The Contraries Arc
by Sol1056
Summary: 3 parts: Shadow of Desire, Restraint of Desire, Measure of Desire. Rebellion is sparking in the West, and Drachma's feeding the fires. Gen. Mustang is called to investigate, and Fullmetal insists on coming along. Divergent future, ep30 spoilers thru ep25.
1. shadow of desire: brittle

          _Expect poison from the standing water._  
                  ― William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

**1: brittle           **

     Roy signed the last transfer confirmation, and flipped the file closed. Setting it in his outbox, he stared for a second at the pile, and then glanced down at his desk calendar. The meeting at five had been cancelled; one of the Alchemists presenting had come down with the flu, or perhaps it was a child who had, or some other unforeseeable reason to move the meeting to yet another day filled with too many meetings. 

     Seven o'clock: dinner with Beth.

     He fought the urge to groan, recognizing the sinking feeling in his stomach that told him he just wasn't up for it. Idly he doodled on the edge of the calendar, hatches and lines that meant nothing, intersected by a circle. A few triangles, off-center. 

     Off-center, he told himself. Yeah, that about sums it up. Sighing, he picked up the phone and dialed, having to flip through his address book to find Beth's number. He stood, pushing the chair away behind him as he turned to stare out the window. The broad square at the front of the National Alchemists' Headquarters was mostly empty at this point in the day, with only a few lucky souls going home early. Roy pondered scowling, but was too tired to bother. The phone stopped ringing when someone picked up, and Roy was startled out of his reverie.

     "Masterson," the voice said.

     "Beth," Roy replied. "Roy."

     "Oh, Roy," Beth sighed, a frisson of joy evident in her voice. "What an _unexpected _pleasure." 

     He found her voice irritated him for some reason. "Look, about tonight...something's come up―"

     "Work?" Her answer came too quickly for the innocent tone to be completely believable. She sounded a little hurt, and he winced, trying to put a reassuring tone back into his words.

     "No, something else, but I'll still have to take a rain check." He chuckled, as though he were thinking lascivious thoughts about their plans. "Perhaps..." Roy let the word drag out, building the anticipation. "Perhaps you're available sometime next week?"

     "Wednesday," she said. "But if you're busy then, I can―"

     "Ah, Tuesday would be better for me," Roy told her, testing. He didn't bother to look at his calendar. He realized he didn't really care. She murmured something, and he nodded, forgetting he was on the phone and she couldn't see him. He was watching two men stride across the courtyard, their voices not carrying but their body language clearly that of two good friends, laughing. It made his chest hurt. "Great," he said, when he realized Beth had paused and was waiting for an answer. "Sorry about tonight," he added, as an afterthought.

     She said something that was probably a platitude or assurance of some sort, and he hung up. Roy wasn't sure whether he'd just agreed to Tuesday night, or Wednesday, or what time, and with a sigh, he realized he didn't really care. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the desk, and let his head drop. 

     He thought about calling Gracia, but just as quickly decided against it. She was probably busy, anyway, with Alicia, doing some sort of mother-daughter thing as they always were. He'd just be an imposition, he told himself. But maybe he could just call to say hello. He thought of uncrossing his arms, to reach for the phone, but found he hadn't moved. No, he told himself, I certainly can't just invite myself for dinner. That wouldn't be proper, and besides, they're probably busy, anyway―

     "Mm, now I know there's a new world order," a low tenor voice said behind him.

     Roy recognized that voice immediately, but couldn't find it in him to tense. He was just...so _tired_, his mind supplied. Instead, he grunted, almost shrugging. "What new world order, Fullmetal?"

     "The day the infamous Brigadier General of _love_―" Edward drawled the word out, twice as long as it needed to be. "―cancels a date." Papers flipped at Roy's side, but he didn't turn to look. It sounded like Edward was paging through the calendar. "Yeah. I was right." The smirk was clear in Edward's voice. "Meeting cancelled...and the evening open, and you back out." 

     "Good to see you, too, Fullmetal." Roy squared his shoulders and stood up, certain his face was an impassive mask. Pulling his chair back, he sat down and pulled the next file open, scanning the page without looking up. "Colonel Kavanaugh is in West City, if you forgot. You're a few hundred miles to the East, if you've got a report."

     His only answer was silence, and then Edward settled into the couch opposite the desk, as he had for so many years. Roy fought the irrational urge to tell Edward to get out. To tell him, you don't work for me, haven't for two years. Don't...he bit back the thoughts, and stared at the paper in his hands.

     I am not up to this, he thought, and tried to focus on the page. He'd read it three times, and couldn't remember a damn word.

     "I don't have a report, General," Edward said quietly, then laughed. "Besides, you probably know everything I've done for the past three months, anyway. How about _you_ tell _me_ what I've been doing and we save time?"

     Roy looked up at that, and had to smirk, seeing Edward's mock-irritation. The wide eyes, the golden irises catching the late afternoon sun, and the long braid, nearly to Edward's elbows, a thick rope of gold and bronze. The clothes were still solidly black, the white gloves pristine; over it all, Edward wore the red coat, the indelible visual signature of the Fullmetal Alchemist. 

     "You've been investigating mining options in the high forest," Roy finally said. "I heard there was a bit of destruction―"

     "But only a bit," Edward retorted. "I'm getting mellow in my old age." He cast a sideways glance at Roy, and sprawled across the couch, one arm thrown casually across the back. 

     Old age, Roy thought, and refused to rise to the bait. He glanced down at the calendar again, and just nodded, bending his head to his work. 

     "General," Edward said, then, softly. 

     Roy didn't need to look up to see the puzzled frown on Edward's face; he'd heard it in Edward's voice enough over the past eight years. The voice was deeper now, a little; the face, more finely honed and sculpted by the move into adulthood, but the body was still lean and powerful, a weapon that seemed slight until the blade was revealed. Roy didn't look. He signed the first sheet, and moved to the next, automatically, and wondered how soon before he could go home. There was a good bottle of single-malt whiskey he'd been saving for a special occasion. 

     Tonight should be special, he thought, and couldn't keep the bitterness from creeping in.

     "General," Edward repeated. He got up, then, moving about, but Roy paid him no heed. A second later, a white-gloved hand landed in the middle of the paper Roy was about to sign. "Brigadier General Mustang," Edward said, formally. "Let's get out of here."

     Roy froze, confused, and fell back into annoyance to cover. He dropped the pen, and lifted one hand, as though about to snap. "Fullmetal, I have work to do."

     "It's five o'clock, sir, you cancelled a date with someone, and have no plans for the evening," Edward replied calmly. His eyes were assessing, but there was a thin line between his brows. When Roy looked up, Edward's gaze didn't quite make contact, and Roy frowned, wondering what was going on. 

     "And now you're my social secretary, Fullmetal?" Roy glanced pointedly at Edward's hand. Slowly Edward removed it, but remained standing in front of the desk, his hands on his hips.

     "You keep canceling dates, and I'd sign up," Edward shot back. "Gotta be easier than dealing with Kavanaugh."

     Roy snorted and signed the next sheet, setting it to the side. 

     "Come on, General. I'm taking you out for a drink."

     Roy's pen suddenly seemed to jump sideways, and he frowned at his hand's unexpected maneuver. Raising his head, he arched one eyebrow at Edward. "You? Taking me for a drink?" 

     "Yeah," Edward replied, bristling just a bit. "I'm old enough. Have been for two years."

     "Not what I meant," Roy said. Edward tensed, the eyes flashing, and Roy realized the young man was ready for a taunt at his height. A height, Roy added, that was now only two inches shorter than Roy's own five-eight. Just as quickly, though, Roy shrugged, and signed the paper as though his pen had never marred the pristine white. Edward was silent, and Roy nearly smirked, knowing his refusal to play their old game had just thrown Edward completely off-balance. 

     My heart's not in it, Roy told the young man silently. Just go away. I want to finish this, and go home. Alone.

     "Come on, General," Edward said, very softly. He moved away from the desk, and returned a minute later. "Your coat, General. I'm sure we can get a car to the officer's club."

     "You're taking me to the officer's club, too?" Roy set down the pen and looked up at Edward, too tired to pretend surprise or derision. Doing his best to mask a sigh, he stood up, taking the coat and shrugging into it while Edward watched with a scowl. Roy flipped his calendar closed, and as he did every day, took a quick look at the lone picture on his desk, of he and his oldest friend when they'd first joined the military. Saying his silent nightly goodbye with a promise to see him again in the morning, Roy turned to Edward. "I warn you," he said, "I'm not the best of company right now."

     "You never are, General," Edward retorted, and waited for Roy to lead the way from the office.

                                            _________________________________________

     "The officer's club, First Lieutenant Havoc," Roy said, and waited as Havoc struggled into his jacket and went to bring a car around. Edward was silent at Roy's side, a bewildered, tense silence, and Roy realized that Havoc had merely saluted Edward, not greeting him with any jibes. Havoc hadn't even used the old nickname of Boss. 

     "This isn't necessary," Roy mustered the energy to say, as the car pulled up in front of the building. He opened the door, but Edward stood behind him, arms crossed, chin down.

     "I think I'm beginning to see that it is," Edward replied, and waited. "No, General, after you."

     Roy sighed, and got in the car. They didn't speak on the five-minute trip to the club, although Roy could feel Havoc glancing at him in the rear-view mirror. He wondered for the first time if Hawkeye had pushed Edward into this, and decided against it. First, he doubted Edward was even aware until recently of Hawkeye's temporary assignment in the North. And Hawkeye, for all her perceptiveness, had seemed to be fooled for the few months before her departure, expressing only her own dissatisfaction at leaving the office, even in Havoc's capable hands. Roy had realized her assignment was the best application of her skills, and he needed her there; he needed eyes he could trust reporting back to him, even if she wasn't an Alchemist. Once he'd known that, he'd screwed the mask on tight and left it in place until she departed on the train. 

     It hurt, somehow, to know that there was no one, now, who could see past the mask if he so chose. 

     "We're here, General Mustang," Havoc said, and Roy realized the car had stopped. 

     He set his jaw, and got out, not waiting to see if Edward was behind him. Inside, he headed straight for the end of the bar, against the wall, and it was only once he'd hung up his coat on the wall pegs that he realized where he'd chosen. 

     Well, too late now to request a different location, he figured, and sat down. Edward was settling down next to him, also facing the bar, and Roy raised a finger at the bartender. 

     "Whiskey on the rocks, double," Roy said. "And...put his drinks on―"

     "Stop that," Edward interrupted. "Gin and tonic," he told the waitress. "_My_ tab, for both of us."

     "Gin?" Roy settled his elbows on the bar, and looked sideways at Edward.

     "Blame Farman," Edward said. There was a flash of something like his old smile, and then he seemed to visibly relax, a casual sinking of his spine. "Stopped by to see Gracia and Alicia," he added, altogether too nonchalantly to deceive Roy.

     "Ah." Roy accepted the drink and sipped it, setting it down and staring at the rows of bottles behind the bar. He tightened his fingers around the glass, and did his best to play along. "And how are they doing?"

     "Alicia has her father's―" Edward stopped, and there was the clink of ice as he took a drink, setting it down before he tried again. "Alicia is quite the photographer. I got to see all her pictures of flowers and puppies and the rest of her second-grade class. She's very good with the camera."

     "Yes, she is," Roy answered automatically. The whiskey burned at the back of his throat, and he was tempted to make a face. It wasn't nearly as good as what he had at home.

     "Gracia says you should come by sometime," Edward continued, in a soft tone. "Apparently you've been quite busy―"

     "Yes, I have," Roy murmured. He had another sip, and wondered how much longer until he could leave. He didn't want to think about Gracia, or Alicia, or Hawkeye, or Farman, or any of the other people he'd known who weren't there.

     "Too busy to keep your dates," Edward said, the jab cloaked with a light observation. 

     Roy muttered something inaudible, and realized he'd almost finished his drink. He pondered the wisdom of ordering a second one, and decided to slow down. He wanted to get stinking drunk, but not in the officer's club. And definitely not with Edward sitting at his side, poking at him with unprecedented grace, seeking some unknown goal. 

     "So, General, when are you getting married?" 

     The question was unexpected enough that Roy blinked, and turned on the bar stool to frown at Edward. The young man's eyebrows were raised, his teeth bared in a parody of a smile. Roy frowned, and shook his head, turning back to his drink, and crossing his arms on the bar. He kept his spine ramrod straight, unwilling to let even a moment's weakness show through.

     "Who told you I was getting married?" He lifted his glass and swirled it, watching the ice cubes melt clear into the golden whiskey.

     "No one," Edward replied, leaning sideways against the bar. For a short man, he could sprawl anywhere, at will, and seem to take up nearly the entire room. "Just...isn't it about time you...y'know, get married and have kids or something?" He leaned back, taking a drink and letting an ice cube slide into his mouth. Edward chewed it noisily around a grin. "Wait too much longer and you'll be too old or something." He swallowed the ice, waiting expectantly for the sarcastic reply.

     "I almost got married," Roy said, and wasn't sure why he'd said that instead of something else, something sharp or dismissive.

     Edward was silent. In shock, probably, Roy thought. He didn't look. After a few minutes, Edward turned to face the back of the bar, a white gloved hand encircling his glass as he stared down into the liquid, mirroring Roy's position. "What stopped you?" His voice was soft, barely audible over the noise of the bar in the background.

     Roy smiled, a little sadly. "She said no." He finished off the last of his whiskey, and signaled the bartender for another.

     There was a sharp barking sound, like the beginning of a laugh, and then it cut off. "I'm sorry," Edward whispered. 

     "Yeah, well." Roy shrugged. "It was a stupid idea, anyway." He watched the bartender pour another double, and pondered the fact that loneliness could be so overwhelming as to make him utter two simple words, that could wreck everything. He hadn't meant it like that, he thought, not for the first or the hundredth time. Or perhaps he did, and the idea of love was just something for people who had time, and lives, and weren't walking goals, reduced to purposes and edges. "It wouldn't have worked out," he said, and almost managed a shrug. 

     "Maybe." Edward swirled his glass. "I broke up with Winly," he said.

     That startled Roy, and he looked over to see Edward frowning, the golden rope of braid lying across Edward's shoulder, framing the young man's face. "Hunh," Roy managed, not sure what to say. Congratulations? Better luck next time? Sucks? 

     "She's still important to me, but I'm gone more than I'm there. We didn't really want the same things...It wasn't fair to her," Edward said, his lips twisted in a wry smile. "Or me, I suppose."

     "True," Roy murmured. He took a deep breath, and let the mask of the conversational professional drift down over his demeanor. "And Alphonse?"

     "Doing well," Edward said, brightening. "He's up to running several miles a day. Even learned how to swim."

     "Glad to hear it."

     "Hates the girls in Reisen Pool," Edward added with a smirk. Roy blinked, and gave Edward the best version of a surprised look that he could manage. Edward's smirk only grew wider. "They're all sixteen-year old nitwits." He rolled his eyes. "There's no way we were that bad."

     "No, you weren't, but you were busy." Roy snorted, and turned back to his drink. "And I can't imagine _Alphonse_ hates them all." He cast a sly look at Edward. "Winly, though..."

     "Oh, yeah." Edward laughed, brightly. "She says she's got to beat them off with a wrench if she wants five minutes of Alphonse's time." He made a show of shuddering. "That's no idle threat, either. And I guess Alphonse does kinda likes the attention..."

     Even if he's really a nineteen year old who squeezed more living into five years than most grown men do in a lifetime...and now he's in a body that's only a few years older than the one he'd lost. Roy had often wondered whether Alphonse's appearance meant the Philosopher's Stone had limits. He suspected it didn't, but that Edward did. Between the guesses of his brother's height and appearance, and the memory of his eleven-year-old brother, Edward could only stray so far from what he knew to have once been reality. Roy realized Edward was still talking, and he let his attention drift back to the conversation. 

     "...when I finished the assignment in Triex dealing with the flying pigs, I got word that Hawkeye's pregnant―"

     Roy choked, catching the last words. "Hawkeye's..." He coughed, feeling the whiskey heat up his throat from going down the wrong pipe. Edward didn't move, waiting, and Roy turned to look at him, somewhere between annoyed at his top staff member not telling him, and stunned to hear the news from Edward's mouth, of all people. Roy tried again. "P-pregnant?" 

     "Yes." Edward's face was perfectly serious. "With my two-headed love child. Transmutation gone wrong, y'know," he added off-handedly.

     Roy glared. 

     Edward smirked, then slowly relented, turning to face the back bar. His face was studiously neutral when he spoke again. "Gracia was right," he said.

     Figures she'd be behind this. Roy's glare faded, and he turned as well, staring down into the half-empty glass of whiskey. 

     "She's worried about you," Edward whispered. "And...I don't mean to pry, General, but...are you okay? You seem..." Edward shrugged, and ducked his head. 

     "I'm fine," Roy answered without thinking.

     "Yeah, real fuckin' fine, Mustang," Edward drawled. "Not what I hear...or see."

     Roy sighed. "So Gracia set you on me for the night." He lifted the glass to his lips, but paused before drinking. "I'll have to talk to her."

     "She'd like that," Edward said, tentatively.

     I doubt it, Roy thought. He didn't say it, though, only nodded absently. 

     "She said she hasn't seen a great deal of you..."

     Her choice. Or maybe mine. Or maybe it doesn't matter. Roy finished off his drink, holding the glass up as he studied the wet ring it had left on the bar napkin. Carefully he set it back in place, perfectly in line with the circle. He was tempted to find a pen, draw crosshatches and marks across the circle, an idle transmutation circle that would make him able to snap and jab back at Edward. Then the young man would be relieved that their poniard wits were still sharp, and leave, probably in a huff while slamming the door behind him. 

     That would be normal, Roy thought, and found he couldn't muster the will to play the game. It wasn't that he didn't want to jab at Edward, he realized, a little surprised. He poked hesitantly at the awareness, as though prodding a fresh wound. It was that he didn't want Edward storming off, no matter how amusing that had been for so many years. 

     No, Roy told himself, it's a sign I need to get my head screwed on straight if I'm willing to put up with Edward rather than be alone. He could feel Edward, waiting, beside him, and pushed the glass a half-inch off the water ring, watching it smear.

     "I've been busy," he offered, knowing it was a lame excuse. He sat back, clasping his hands in his lap, and fought to get back the smirk he'd once worn so easily around Edward. "Flying pigs in Triex?"

     "Oh, yeah," Edward said, taking the hint and switching topics easily. "Some alchemist was using his neighbor's farm animals for experiments."

     "Sounds like a rather low-key investigation for the likes of you."

     "Not really. Kavanaugh's sources claimed there were indications of a rebel spy ring, that wanted to use the pigs to send messages." Edward snorted. 

     "And birds weren't good enough," Roy observed. 

     "I think the guy was just bored," Edward said, and his words carried more than one meaning. He pushed his glass forward and nodded to the bartender. The bar was filling up behind them, and Edward twisted on the seat to watch the groups of people filing in. "Cause...when people get bored, things tend to get crazy."

     "True." Roy arched an eyebrow at Edward. "And you would be Evidence A."

     Edward opened his eyes wide, in mock-innocence, then grinned lazily. "Maybe," he agreed. "But Kavanaugh keeps me busy."

     "Not busy enough, if the rumors are true about that town self-imploding in Karenstan," Roy mused. 

     "It didn't self-implode," Edward retorted. "It just...fell in on itself. Once the illegal gold operations were removed from the caverns underneath―"

     "The support system caused a cascade reaction and the entire town became one big sinkhole," Roy finished. "Neatly covering most of the evidence, too, which means none of the townspeople could be convicted of any crimes."

     "I _knew_ you knew everything I was doing, you cocky..." Edward's mutter faded, his lips twisting.

     "You don't work for me, Fullmetal," Roy said, motioning for another drink and starting to feel strangely better. It was good to flex his wit, sharpen it on Edward's steel. "You can speak your mind, now. I'm hardly going to court-martial you for it."

     "Try, and I'd kick your ass." Edward leaned his cheek on his fist, and grinned widely. 

     "You wish." Roy watched the bartender fill his glass again, and decided to slow down. Getting royally drunk didn't seem like such a great plan, now that he had some form of entertainment. "One snap from me―"

     "Oh?" Edward raised an eyebrow. "You going for a rematch? My annual review is next month. Clear your calendar - oh, wait, not a problem, you're already doing that as a matter of course."

     "Rematch?" Roy allowed a small, cold smile to grace his features. "You'd be toast."

     "I've learned a great deal in the past seven years," Edward replied. "You'd be the one begging, this time."

     "I doubt it," Roy told him, a little stiffly. "Besides, I'm not going to waste my time fighting someone so―" He waited, allowing himself a private smile when Edward tensed, eyes narrowing. "―so _busy_."     

     Edward frowned, but the frown twisted, shifting into calculated smile. Score one for you, Edward's expression said, but it was cloaked as someone caught Edward's gaze. The young man was silent for a minute, then turned around to face the back of the bar, hunching his shoulders over his fresh drink. 

     "There's troubles in the West," Edward said, in an undertone. "Rumors of a large fighting force. The alchemist with the flying pigs - for all his idiocy - had documents indicating arms have been smuggled through the Briggs Mountains. Drachma's influence has shown up in other regions, too."

     "Kavanaugh's response?" Roy sipped his whiskey, letting it settle on his tongue before swallowing.

     "Told me to lay low and watch for more." Edward shrugged, and grinned, and Roy answered it with one of his own. They both knew the likelihood of the Fullmetal Alchemist laying low was as good as the chances pigs would ever replace passenger pigeons. Edward leaned forward, his nose almost to the edge of his glass. "Fighting's broken out in small spots, here and there. Mostly people arguing over whether or not they'll support these rebel forces."

     Roy had heard the rumors, and seen the reports back from the field. There were hints that several National Alchemists had also disappeared in some of the hotspots, but they were ones - like Edward - who tended to be gone for long periods without checking in. It would be another month or two of waiting before the military would rouse itself to investigate. What Roy didn't get, though, was word on the people themselves, only on the outbreaks of rioting or fighting, scattered across the countryside. 

     He watched an ice cube crack in his drink. "The people disagree?"

     "Most of them, actually," Edward muttered, his voice low. "They like the peace. Only the ones being ground under the heels of the military are actively seeking an upheaval." He shrugged. "Like Youswell, years ago―"

     "With the gold that came and went, overnight?" Roy gave Edward an amused glance.

     "Bizarre, hunh," Edward replied, not missing a beat. "Those folks were mad, but they had someone right there, who abused his rank. There are towns with decent military officials, and those towns see no reason to upset the apple cart." 

     "Based on your travels, what's the percentage?" Roy swirled his glass. The ice clinked. "Rough estimate."

     "Maybe...three unhappy villages, for every happy one." Edward frowned, and shook his head. "Perhaps higher. Hard to say. Most of the places I get sent are places with problems." He cocked his head at Roy, his golden eyes glowing in the bar's low light. "Not like Kavanaugh's going to send me somewhere there's nothing going on." He looked pensive, suddenly. "Unless it's Reisen Pool."

     "Are you between assignments, now? Or on your way somewhere?" Roy recalled seeing some paperwork concerning Edward's upcoming tasks, but he wanted to hear Edward's version, first.

     "Between," Edward said. "Technically. Just got back from Reisen Pool...figured I'd take a side trip."

     Bet Kavanaugh has a shrine where he burns me in effigy every night, Roy thought, and smirked. Letting Edward spend six years doing what he pleased, for the most part. And now Edward thinks the train system is his own personal transportation to go back and forth as he pleases. Please, Roy thought, don't ever let him stumble over one of the Port Cities, or there's no place that'll be safe from his curiosity. 

     "What?" Edward frowned. "What's so funny?"

     "Just thinking your current superior probably has issues with your lack of discipline," Roy observed. 

     "To put it mildly." Edward spun on the seat, leaning his elbows against the bar. He looked over his shoulder at Roy. "Hungry? It's dinner time."

     "Not really." Roy finished off his last drink, and set the glass down. "You go on, if you are."

     "You can't live on whiskey alone, y'know."

     "Watch me." Roy pushed his jacket out of the way, and dug in his back pocket for his wallet. 

     "Stop that, General. I do get paid―"

     "I know just how much, too. You push it, and I'll see the amount gets reduced substantially." Roy dug out several bills and put them on the bar. When the bartender looked over, Roy gestured to both empty glasses. "I'm going to head―"

     "I'll come with you." Edward stood up, and grabbed his coat. 

     "Not necessary, Fullmetal."

     "Sure it is. And we're not on duty, right?" Edward didn't move, standing between Roy and the line of coat pegs. When Roy frowned, then shrugged, Edward looked pleased. "Fine. Name's Elric..._Mustang_."

     "Elric." Mustang rolled his eyes. "Get out of my way, Elric."

     "What, too short to reach? Need some help?" Edward needed only to tilt his head the barest amount to look Roy in the eyes. He leaned against the wall, pressing Roy's coat against the wood. "Dinner, Mustang. Did you even eat lunch?"

     Roy gritted his teeth. "What the hell is this? I want my coat. Move."

     "I'm moving," Edward said, and there was a flash of something across his face that went too fast for Roy to identify. Perhaps anger, perhaps hurt, or maybe he was just tired and finally showing it. "So..."

     "No dinner. I've got too much work to do." Roy pulled on his coat, and straightened it. Satisfied, he turned and headed for the door, aware Edward was trailing along behind. Outside, he waved for a cab, surprised when Edward clambered in as well. "Fullmetal―"

     "Elric."

     Roy glowered. "Elric. I can get home fine on my own. Unlike you, I've been drinking for years―"

     "Decades, even." Edward settled back on the cab seat, and threw one arm over the back of the seat. "I'm bored, Gen..._Mustang_. Wouldn't want me to get into trouble, would you? So humor me."

     "Hmph." Roy gave the cab driver the address for his apartment, and sat back, staring out the window at the early evening twilight. When the cab pulled up in front of his apartment building, Roy handed several bills to the cab driver. Before Edward could protest, Roy told the cabbie, "And the rest is to take him where ever he wants to go, as long as it's not a strip club, a pool hall, or back to this address." He shut the door, smirking as Edward's scowl resolved into a smug grin. 

     The cab started to pull away, then stopped, and Roy turned around with a frown to see Edward rolling down the window. The young man leaned out, his braid slapping against the door as it fell over his shoulder. Edward's expression was hesitant, almost shy.

     "Hey, Mustang," he called, softly, and smiled. "Happy birthday." 

     The cab pulled away, and Roy was left on the sidewalk, a little stunned. After a moment, he shook himself, and headed up the steps to his apartment building. It wasn't until he was unlocking the door to his apartment that he realized he was smiling as well. 

* * *

TBC, natch.

Characters and environment owned by Arakawa Hiromu and Square-Enix. Speculation about the post-series world is completely my own; I've seen only through episode 28 and read only up to chapter 16. But hey, I do own a nifty book on Japanese pictographs! Complete with little pictures explaining the history behind the kanji. Now, if only someone would do something like that for Mandarin...


	2. shadow of desire: worn

          _Bring out number weight & measure in a year of dearth._  
                  ― William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

**2: worn             **

     Roy woke up in his living room when the first rays of dawn hit his face. Groaning, he scrubbed at his face with one hand, and roughed up his hair before pushing himself upright. The pictures in his lap fluttered to the floor, and he stared down at them, blindly, too preoccupied with trying to figure out why he didn't have a hangover. Remembering, he shook his head at the surreal evening of the day before, and stumbled towards the shower. 

     An hour later - having had no reason to sit around his apartment and stare at the walls - he left for work. He'd begun coming in earlier, over the past year or so. The fewer people he had over to spend the night, he'd been finding, the better. Letting anyone spend the night only made him late for work, and made the apartment that much emptier when he came home again. And besides, he told himself, waiting for the staff car outside his apartment, everyone he brought home said the same things, made the same jokes. It was all so..._rote_.

     It was a cold, silent ride to Headquarters, and Roy mulled over the day's schedule. He had that meeting at ten with General Mascroft concerning upcoming National Alchemists assignments, followed by another meeting on the reporting system. He paid no mind to the city outside the car window, getting out automatically when the car pulled up to the building. He shoved a hand in his coat, nodding absently as some of the younger military staff saluted him at the door. His footsteps followed the same path as they had the night before, in reverse: long, slow, even, quiet. He'd never counted the steps. It would be the same number, every time. 

     He wasn't far from his own office when he heard someone say his name. His footsteps faltered, then came to a halt as he listened, curious.

     "...Little over a year ago, I guess...when he got his promotion, and Ms. Hughes and Alicia took him for dinner..."

     Roy swayed, remembering that night, the restaurant, and Alicia's chatter, and the fact that he'd suddenly realized just how...just how much he'd missed having someone who listened, who saw him not as Colonel Mustang or General Mustang, but as _Roy_. Over the dessert they'd shared with Alicia, he'd realized how much Gracia was like his old friend, and yet an old friend in her own right. It was as if Maes were there, at the table with them, but in a way that made Roy feel more at ease than he had in years, without that familiar constriction in his chest that signaled hidden grief. How quick to laughter Gracia could be, just like Maes. How she smiled at him over Alicia's head, and he found himself smiling back...

     "...She'd come by with lunch, sometimes..."

     Roy tensed, finally placing the lowered voice as Havoc. Just as quickly, he was certain the only person who would have asked, the only person who would have been granted such personal insight, would be Edward Elric. Bile rose in Roy's throat. It was bad enough, the night before, to have recalled his fleeting stupidity that ruined everything, but another thing altogether to have to stand here, in the hallway, and listen to it through a cracked door. His fingers itched, and he rubbed his forefinger and thumb together, idly, feeling the glove's scratchy material burn into the pads of his fingers.

     "So what happened?" Edward's tenor, puzzlement clear, and perhaps also a hint of...

     No, Roy told himself, stop imagining things. Clear your throat and push that door open. Havoc can't possibly have finished compiling the reports from the National Alchemists' reviews from last week, and you'll need those for the meeting at ten. Fury was gone for the week, for his sister's wedding, and the remaining staff had been struggling to cover all the work on their own rather than deal with another inept temporary staff member. He'd need to remind Havoc the reports were top priority. Roy's thoughts were interrupted by Havoc's bitter laugh.

     "Nothing, Boss," Havoc said. "Just one day..." Roy could practically hear Havoc shrugging. "Back to business as usual."

     That's enough, Roy thought, and raised his hand to push the door open. He stared at the array, etched in red on the back of his glove, as if seeing it for the first time. He wasn't sure what it meant, suddenly, and didn't care. Dropping his hand, he turned, and quietly strode the last fifteen feet to his own office door.

     "Brigadier General Mustang, I agree. Placement on Bray, Crandell, and Dutcher is approved," Major General Mascroft said, looking around the room. Colonel Parker frowned slightly, but Roy was certain she'd been hoping Dutcher would be moved to her command, rather than Kavanaugh's. Mascroft cleared his throat and shuffled the papers. "I'm still not certain about Jeffrey and Guarino, however."

     "Guarino's brother died last month," Colonel Lovell explained. "His low scores reflect that. I've begun the appeal process."

     "We'll put him on holding, then," Mascroft said, shrugging. "Jeffrey? This is the second year she's failed to pass the exam."

     There was silence around the room, and Roy noted Jeffrey's commanding officer, General Wimmer, frowning down at his papers. Roy sighed, and glanced over his own reports. Crandell would be a valuable addition to the command in the North, but Jeffrey's alchemy, being plant-based, would have been beneficial in the high mountains on the border with Drachma. The logging operations would feel the lack. 

     The rest of the meeting passed without incident, and Roy nodded at appropriate moments, seeing no need to get involved in the rest of the assignments and transfers. His own preferences had been granted, and more importantly, no one had raised the issue of moving Edward from Kavanaugh's staff to elsewhere. Roy told himself the relief was solely because he preferred having a direct line to keeping an eye on Edward, if necessary. Although, he reminded himself, even if Edward were transferred, he'd probably still hear the news, through the National Alchemists' grapevine. 

     Roy stood and saluted with the rest of the staff when Generalissimo Thayer stopped by. The man had little to add but a smile and a quick comment, congratulating them with a barbed tease about the lack of explosions, water damage, or holes in the walls. Roy listened, filing the joke away in his head, along with his automatic observations about which people Thayer looked in the eye, and for how long. Then Thayer was gone, and Roy was packing up his papers along with the rest of the group. A few minutes chatting on auto-pilot with Colonel Parker about Crandell's obsession with his motorcycle, and Roy was breezing down the hallways, back to his own office. He passed Havoc in the hallway, and the man saluted but said nothing as he took the papers from Roy. 

     Back in his own office, Roy closed the door behind himself, and leaned against it, letting his head fall back as his eyes closed. He stayed there for several heartbeats, before realizing there was someone in the office. Warily, he opened his eyes, stiffening his spine as he let the mask drop down over his features. 

     Edward Elric was leaning against the window, arms crossed, watching him. 

     "Fullmetal," Roy said, moving to his desk, his expression purposefully blank. "I expected you'd be on your way by now."

     "I was bored," Edward said, shrugging. His eyes were narrowed, tracking Roy's movements. "It's almost lunchtime, General."

     "So it is." Roy settled himself in his chair and grabbed the thick folder in his inbox. The weekly meeting with the administrative staff was in two hours, and he needed to review the progress updates on the new systems they'd instituted. Their preliminary report design had major changes from the old style, and he was less than pleased with some of the information Alchemists no longer needed to include. The benefits of having the report fit on one page did not outweigh the importance of getting as much information as possible, even if field agents saw no immediate reason for including all the minute details of their assignment's results. 

     Roy realized, halfway through the second page, that Edward hadn't moved. He stifled a sigh, and decided to take the initiative. He closed the folder and settled back, clasping his hands in his lap, and stared at the sofa.

     "Take a seat, Fullmetal."

     "Elric." 

     "_Fullmetal._" Roy didn't look over his shoulder, but gritted his teeth. "I'm on duty."

     "I'm not." Edward appeared in the corner of his vision, then, strolling casually towards the sofa and collapsing on it with controlled grace. "Therefore, you're Brigadier General Mustang, but I'm Elric."

     "Have it your way...Fulllmetal," Roy added, a smirk almost appearing on his lips when Edward started to look triumphant, then scowled sharply. Roy leaned back in his chair, turning slightly to face away from Edward, staring at the spot Edward had just vacated. "This is twice in two days. Any particular reason I'm owed this honor?"

     "Told you already, I'm bored." Edward cocked his head at Roy, and grinned. Roy's eyebrow twitched, and Ed's grin got wider. Edward threw his arms over his head, stretching lazily. "Come on, General. Lunchtime. Feed me."

     "Feeding you is not my responsibility," Roy shot back. "Go talk Havoc into going with you to the canteen. I'm sure he could use a break." He opened the folder again, and leaned forward, resting his cheek on his fist as he went back to reading.

     Edward made a huffing sound. "You're not making this easy, General."

     Now you're singing the tune I sang for six years of dealing with you, Roy thought, and nearly smirked. Instead, he just nodded absently, his mind already drawn into the endless notations of reporting changes and arguments for and against each. Eventually, he figured, Edward might give up. He doubted it - Edward was as stubborn as rocks in a creek bed - but he could always hope, he told himself. The word choice made his gut clench for some reason, and his fingers tightened on the pen that had found its way into his right hand. He made a few notes in the margins, about issues he'd need to raise in the meeting.

     "Hmm," Edward mused out loud, "I could always bring lunch up here." Roy glanced up to see Edward eyeing him, an appraising look on his face. "You're too thin, General. The women will abandon you if you're nothing but skin and bones."

     Roy snorted. "Doubt it." A flicker of his old self returned, and he arched an eyebrow. "Jealous, Fullmetal?"

     Edward glowered. "Hey, I'm not being paid to do this."

     "Then why?" Roy nearly bit his own tongue for asking.

     "No reason," Edward replied, but his tone was far too casual, and he didn't quite look Roy in the eye. 

     The powers save me from meddling underlings, Roy thought; one Hawkeye in my life is enough. He dropped his eyes back to the paper in front of him. He was snapped out of his concentration not by more from Edward, but by a knock on the door. Roy dropped his hand, looking up to see Havoc saluting.

     "Brigadier General Mustang," Havoc said. "Generalissimo Thayer, sir." He saluted again, and stepped out of the way. Generalissimo Thayer stepped through the door, flanked by his two assistants, and Roy instantly came to his feet, saluting as well. 

     "At ease, Brigadier General," Thayer said. He was an older man, with salt-and-pepper hair, though his neatly trimmed beard was solid white. There were lines around his eyes, from years of looking into the distance, Roy mused, dropping his hand to stand with his hands clasped at the small of his back, waiting. Thayer nodded pleasantly to Edward, who had also come to his feet. Thayer looked back at Mustang, and hummed for several seconds before smiling. "The office life doesn't suit you, General Mustang."

     "Sir." Roy kept the frown off his face, but didn't hide his reaction entirely. He narrowed his eyes, uncertain whether Thayer meant it as a compliment or a hidden insult. The Generalissimo's smiles often masked a ruthless edge. 

     "I've been told that two National Alchemists have disappeared in the field, somewhere north of Hyle," Thayer said, shoving his hands in his pockets. Even in such an informal pose, his back was still ramrod straight. "This is quite distressing."

     "Yes, sir," Roy answered, automatically. He could see Edward's eyes widen at the news, and the quick flicker of Edward's gaze moving between Thayer and Mustang. Roy kept his focus on Thayer, ignoring Edward. 

     "I'm assigning you to investigate, General," Thayer said, and smiled. "Leave immediately. This is the highest priority, and your abilities come highly recommended. I trust you'll be able to find out what happened. Take whomever you feel would be helpful, and keep me informed." 

     "Sir," Roy said, and saluted. Thayer nodded to each of them, and left, his assistants trailing behind him. 

     Havoc remained by the door, looking a little stunned, and Roy sighed, staring down at the folder on his desk. He'd like to take Havoc - or Hawkeye - but Hawkeye wouldn't be back for another month. And he needed Havoc to remain, to keep things going here. 

     But, Roy mused, Breda could handle things in the office. His clearance is high enough, and if we leave tomorrow morning, that should be enough time for Havoc to brief Breda on the additional duties. I wonder if I can borrow back Second Lieutenant Farman on such short notice. 

     "First Lieutenant Havoc," Roy finally said. "Tell First Lieutenant Breda he's got charge of the office. Fill him in on your duties, whatever Warrant Officer Steckman can't do." Roy began straightening up the files on his desk, his mouth moving as part of his mind calculated whom he'd need to contact, what to take, and where everything was. He made a mental note to buy new razors on the way home; he was pretty sure he was out. "Have someone contact Captain Hawkeye so she knows what's going on, and have Warrant Officer Steckman notify the administrative team - Sally is the person to talk to - about the fact that I won't be at the meeting this afternoon." Roy paused, considered that, and flipped the folder open again. "No, scratch that. I'll be there."

     "Sir?" Havoc frowned. "But that meeting is slated for five hours, and―"

     "I'm aware of that," Roy said, sitting back down. "Go on, First Lieutenant. You'll need all the time you've got to get First Lieutenant Breda up to speed on your duties. And find out when the first train is leaving, tomorrow morning, for Hyle. We'll be on it." Roy thumbed the pages in his calendar, looking for the notation for the telephone number for Farman's current assignment post. 

     "Just two tickets, sir?"

     "No, three," Roy answered, not looking up. "I'm going to see if Second Lieutenant Farman is―"

     "Take me," Edward interrupted. Roy froze, his fingers over his calendar, and slowly looked up to see Edward's wide eyes, the mid-day light arching through the windows to turn the gold into an intense bronze. Edward didn't flinch at Roy's glare. "There's no way you'll get Second Lieutenant Farman here in enough time," Edward insisted. "You're supposed to leave immediately, and Farman's down near Rush Valley, with Lieutenant Colonel Tollett. It'd take him until tomorrow afternoon to get here, assuming you can get a hold of them while―"

     "Tollett," Roy repeated under his breath. He shook his head when he realized Edward was still talking. "Fullmetal, no. You're due back at Colonel Kavanaugh's post in another day, correct? You should leave now. It's an all-day train ride." Roy picked up the phone, startled when Edward jerked it out of his hand and slammed it back down. Irritated, Roy snapped, "Fullmetal, that's enough."

     "You're being stupid," Edward retorted. "I'm right here. And I'm already packed, too."

     "Kavanaugh―"

     "―Won't have a problem with it." Edward jabbed a finger at the phone. "Call him. Ask."

     "Fullmetal," Roy repeated, his voice sinking into a low growl. The fingers on his right hand were tensed, ready to snap. Behind Edward, Havoc was pressed against the wall by the door, as far away as possible without actually leaving. Edward leaned over the desk, his smile sly. Roy shook his head, glaring. "You're not under my command―"

     Edward frowned, then pulled back, nodding, his gaze suddenly contemplative. "No. I'm not. Sir." With a quick bow, he turned and strode from the office, his head high. 

     Roy blinked, and then realized his hand was still raised. Flexing the fingers a little, he dropped the hand to the desk, staring at the whiteness, the bright against the dark wood of the desk, his thumb on the yellowed papers crimped by the typewriter. Something rustled, and he realized Havoc was still present. 

     "Dismissed," Roy whispered, and didn't look up as the office door closed. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned the page to continue reading up on the issues to be raised in the afternoon's meeting.

     It was almost ten o'clock before Havoc dropped Roy off at his apartment, and Roy was already inside before he remembered he'd wanted to stop by the pharmacy and pick up razors. If he hurried, they'd still be open, and he dropped his briefcase by the door, turning right around and heading out again. The city was gray, the street lamps bronze in the drizzling rain, and it reminded him of Edward's eyes, the golden flecks in the iris cloaking themselves suddenly, relenting and turning away. 

     Roy pondered the unexpected sensation of disappointment, when Edward had given in so easily. It would have been nice to have Edward along, he thought, and nearly chuckled at the idea. Having Edward underfoot while tracking down missing National Alchemists was probably the last thing he'd really want, if he were being perfectly realistic. Roy still wasn't sure why he was being sent; it was hardly a job for someone who spent his days sitting behind a desk pushing papers. 

     That's what I do, Roy thought, and barely looked up as he entered the pharmacy. Getting the few travel items he needed, he set them on the counter, paying and accepting his change without a word. The girl murmured something and he merely nodded, taking his package and leaving again. He let the bag swing at his side, and stared at the buildings as he passed. The shop windows were dark, the goods on display lit in streaks, dappled by the raindrops on the windows. A drop hung from a strand of his hair, and a quick breeze blew it against his cheek. 

     I should call Beth, he thought. He'd called and spoken to Gracia, keeping the conversation light and distant, but he hadn't known who else might take care of his plants, and he didn't know how long he'd be gone. He'd met with his staff, going over the changes in duties, but had begged out of dinner on the pretense he'd be meeting someone late, after work. Roy wondered whether Havoc were fooled, and decided he didn't care. He'd scored a few points at the arduous planning meeting that afternoon, and could live with the compromises they'd reached. In all, affairs were reasonably settled, and he could leave in clear conscience. It still didn't explain why he'd been assigned the task, but some things, he figured, would just have to wait.

     He glanced up at the sky, then across the street to the apartments over the shops. Some of the windows were lit, and he restrained himself from staring. He'd always had a fascination with other peoples' houses, that quick glimpse into a homey peace that had never been his. Something about the glow of lamplight, the random sight of someone reading on a sofa, their socked feet tucked up under them. Once, he'd been passing, coming home late from work as usual, and seen someone reading, like that. The person looked up with a brilliant smile, and Roy thought he'd been caught staring through the dark windows. The smile was full of such wonder and welcome, that Roy hadn't been able to stop himself from smiling in return. Then he realized someone else had entered the living room, offering the first person a cup of something hot to drink. 

     He'd blinked, and shoved away the ache in his chest, and walked on. Someday, perhaps, he'd promised himself. But not now. 

     I have more important things to do, he reminded himself, and drew his attention away from those beacons of warmth, shining out across the rain-slick streets. Coming to his own apartment building, he unlocked the front door and let himself inside. His footsteps were ponderous in his ears, but his step was still light, and there was no echo as he climbed to the third floor and unlocked his door.

     It took him only ten minutes to pack. He'd traveled enough in his life, in the military, that he knew what he needed and what could be left behind. It was, he realized with an almost-smirk, not untruthful to say there was little to be left behind. Except, of course, his books, but those were also in his head. He didn't read as much as he once had, nor did he spend days on end in the library any more. Hadn't, in years, really, but he told himself he didn't feel the need, now. He studied up when it was his turn for the National Alchemists' review, but for the most part, he was exempt from the more stringent standards, not being a field agent. 

     Roy hung up his uniform and changed into sweatpants and an old sweater. It was one Hughes had given him, perhaps as a birthday present, or maybe some other reason. He never could tell, with Hughes, although he'd never managed to accept gifts with any grace. Hughes never complained, but simply dropped the wrapped package on Roy's kitchen table and left it there, for Roy to open later, in private. Wearing the item around Hughes and Gracia was enough to let them know it was appreciated. 

     He picked up the scattered pictures on his living room floor, refusing to look at them before putting them back in their box and setting it on the shelf, between the Compendium of Alchemy and Jeziorski's Thesis on Flammable Properties of Metals. Roy ran his finger down the spine of Jeziorski's Thesis, and smiled. It had been one of his first texts. For a second he was tempted to pull it out, and settle down to read - but he entertained the notion only for a second, before he pushed it away as ridiculous. He would make himself some tea; perhaps have a slice of toast before bed. 

     Settling on the sofa to read would only remind him of the truth. No one would be bringing him a cup of tea, carrying in a book of their own, to come join him in companionable silence.

     Roy sighed, and went to call Beth to give his apologies for canceling a second time.

     The morning skies were charcoal gray, and Roy got out of the cab, hefting his suitcase and briefcase as he walked into the station. Havoc was waiting, his eyes bleary, the eternal cigarette unlit as the man waited on the station's benches. When Roy approached, Havoc stood up, saluting sharply. 

     "I never was able to contact Lieutenant Colonel Tollett, sir," Havoc said, apologetically. "I checked in the office before I came here, and there's been no answer. I left word asking him to send Second Lieutenant Farman to join us directly, when he can." 

     "Good." Roy set down his luggage, and sat down next to Havoc. He accepted his ticket from Havoc, glancing it over, then up at the clock on the wall. "Fifteen minutes. We'll be staying at the officer's quarters in Hyle, tonight." He wanted to tuck the ticket away, and close his eyes, and ignore everything around him, but he could feel Havoc's eyes on him, and he forced himself to smile. It was a shadow of his smirk, he knew, but perhaps it would do. "I hope the girls in Hyle are prettier than in Central," he murmured.

     "Farm girls," Havoc said, grinning widely. "Maybe not prettier, but a great deal cheaper." 

     "Go figure," Edward said behind them. "That _would_ be your first priority." 

     Roy suppressed a groan and dropped his chin, crossing his arms in exasperation as Edward came around the bench to drop a battered suitcase next to Roy's luggage. A flash of white caught Roy's gaze, and he looked over to see Havoc handing a ticket to Edward. 

     "What?" Roy couldn't keep the surprise from his voice, or the annoyance. "Fullmetal, we don't require a send-off party―"

     "I wouldn't waste the time," Edward retorted, pocketing the ticket with a smug grin. He spread his legs, shoulder-width apart, and put his hands on his hips. "I'm not here under your command. I'm here on temporary loan, from Colonel Kavanaugh to Generalissimo Thayer."

     "I'm not amused, Fullmetal." Roy didn't bother to glare. He had a sinking feeling there was nothing to be done about it, but he refused on principle to give way that easily. Roy glanced at Havoc, who barely managed to wipe the grin off his face in time. Roy arched an eyebrow. "I presume you knew about this?"

     "Ah, sir," Havoc winced, but the smile was still lurking on his face. "I found out this morning when I stopped by the office. Generalissimo Thayer's assistant, Marguerite, found me and gave me the temporary transfer orders." He fished an envelope from his pocket, and handed it to Roy. "I was going to―" 

     "Mm," Roy muttered, accepting the envelope and opening it. Scanning the letter quickly, he glowered, but tucked the letter away without a word. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what kind of fast talking Edward had done to weasel his way into the assignment. Edward was still giving him that smug smile, but the young man's eyes were a bit wide. Roy paused, noting that, and wondering what had Edward so on edge, even if Edward were slightly better at masking it now than he had been as a boy. 

     The sound of a train whistle, from far off, could be heard, and Havoc stood up. Roy stood as well, and glared at Edward until the young man moved away from Roy's luggage. Havoc picked up Roy's suitcase and his own, and Roy grabbed his briefcase, then led the way to the train platform. Edward stayed at Roy's shoulder, suitcase in hand, and that forsaken smirk still on his lips. He was entirely too damn pleased with himself, and it grated on Roy's nerves.

     "Fullmetal," Roy ground out. "The fact that you're bored does not give you the right to trot along on my assignment."

     "Oh, but sir," Edward replied, lightly, "I'm not bored anymore." 

     Roy grunted, and turned to face the approaching train. 

     "And hopefully, soon, you won't be either," Edward whispered behind him. "Then we can all go back to normal..."

     The train's screeching brakes covered most of Edward's words, but Roy still picked up the gist. He tensed, wondering what Edward meant, and decided to act as though he hadn't heard. It would be easier that way, he told himself.

* * *

Characters and environment owned by Arakawa Hiromu and Square-Enix. Speculation about the post-series world is completely my own; I've seen only through episode 28 and read only up to chapter 16. Thanks to everyone reading and commenting! The story starts picking up in the next chapter, as we move into the meat of the plotline. Expect a few explosions, some car chases - oh, wait, no car chases. Okay, maybe a few minor explosions. And hopefully some blood and guts, too! That's always a good addition to any story...

EVIL, damnit! 


	3. shadow of desire: taciturn

          _Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead._  
                  ― William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

**3: taciturn       **

     Roy stared out the window, waving away Havoc's suggestion for lunch. It wasn't that he didn't feel hungry; perhaps he did. It was the landscape outside the window, and the memories of another train ride, unplanned, unexpected, if in the opposite direction. The sensation wasn't alleviated by the fact that he could see the broad plains, undulating in the mid-day light, where on that trip he'd only his own reflection in the train's windows. 

     Edward was stretched out across the seats opposite Roy, his feet kicked up on the armrest, his head padded by the red jacket, balled up into a pillow. He was sleeping with his back to Roy, which to Roy meant either Edward was unconsciously thumbing his nose at Roy with the fearless gesture, or that Edward truly trusted Roy to not attack him from behind while he slept. Roy wasn't sure which, so he leaned back against the stiff leather padding of the seat, crossed his arms, and let his chin drop to his chest. 

     Havoc had taken up position outside the private room, preferring to stand duty rather than laze inside with the two of them. Roy knew it was part of the traveling procedure, but somehow, it made him feel even more isolated. He'd made a show of being irritated when Edward had tromped in behind him and taken up the entire seat opposite, but at the same time...

     He shifted on the seat, and tilted his head to stare out the window, reviewing the geography in his mind. Hyle was south of Youswell, on the other side of Mount Fuji. They'd be taking the train lines that went south of the range, and from there heading to Soswell, another mining town where one of the National Alchemists was when she last checked in. 

     Roy stretched out his legs, taking advantage of Ed's sleep to allow himself to slouch, just a little. Letting his eyes close against the memories of other trips east, he drifted into sleep, as well.

     He came awake again when the train switched tracks, rumbling noisily over the split, as they turned towards the south, taking the fork down towards Hyle. It took a minute for Roy to register that part of his discomfort was the peculiar sensation that someone was staring at him. Opening his eyes further, he looked across the cabin to see Edward sitting up straight, his hands on his thighs as he watched Roy intently.

     "What?" Roy frowned, and turned his head towards the window. The land was getting hillier, as they neared the mountain range that split Amestris from the desert beyond. 

     "You don't snore," Edward announced.

     Roy blinked, and snapped a suspicious look at Edward, but the young man's eyes were open wide, as though he were contemplating something important. "Pardon?"

     "You don't snore," Edward repeated.

     "I see. And this has what to do with what?" Roy crossed his arms tighter, and pushed himself up so he was sitting straight in the seat.

     "Just noticing." Edward shrugged, and leaned sideways on the seat, kicking one leg up onto the seat. He leaned his head against the armrest, an awkward position that looked it would give him a crick in his neck, Roy thought. Edward continued, nonchalantly, "some people snore. Alphonse does, sometimes." He smiled, a secretive, wistful look, then turned his head to grin widely at Roy. "Major Armstrong snores like a freight train."

     "Mm." Roy gritted his teeth. This was not the caliber of conversation he was expecting, but he'd hardly spent the past years traveling with Edward. He wasn't sure why he'd started, now. 

     Edward was silent for several minutes, and gradually Roy began to relax. He pondered getting out his notes, and reviewing the last few reports from the missing Alchemists. He didn't actually like to work on trains - assuming he ever really liked any of the paperwork, anyway - since trains seemed more like a time to watch the scenery go past, and to mull over things he never had time to consider. 

     Maybe, a small voice whispered in his head, you just miss having a chance to daydream. 

     He snorted, and nearly missed Edward's next words, the young man spoke so softly.

     "Mustang...you have a purpose, right?" 

     "Hm?" Roy frowned, considering that, and nodded. "I do."

     "What..." Edward's lips were pursed, and his eyes were hooded, as though looking into the distance. "What will you do when you get there?" He glanced sideways at Roy, a quick, surreptitious look, his long eyelashes masking the gleam of gold. "I mean, after that. What then?"

     "Then I take up the next set of goals," Roy answered, carefully. He didn't look at Edward, but kept his gaze set on the mountains in the distance.

     "What if...what if you didn't have any?" Edward frowned, and Roy could see in his peripheral vision that the young man was fiddling with the hem of his short black undercoat. Edward shifted on the bench, the leather creaking under his weight. "What would you do then? Wouldn't it be...kind of..." He waved one hand, and cocked his head at Roy, a brilliant grin flashing across his features. "Pretty stupid, eh?" He jumped up, stretching, and headed for the door. "I'm hungry." 

     With that, he shut the door behind him. Roy stared at the door for several heartbeats, and settled back in the seat.

     I could have a hundred years, he thought, and I'll never know what to expect next from him.

     The train pulled into Hyle by mid-afternoon, and Roy had to grind his teeth to keep from yawning. The heat of the winter sun, beating down through the window, and the flashes of gold through the trees had him nearly hypnotized. It hadn't helped that each flash of sun in his eyes reminded him of that quick, bright glance from Edward: distance, and longing, in the same heartbeat. Roy sighed, and took their suitcases down from the overhead rack, while Havoc chatted with the conductor in the hallway. Edward was nowhere around, and in fact, Roy realized, he didn't think Edward had been back since he'd gone in search of food. 

     Roy shrugged and moved Edward's suitcase into the hallway, along with his briefcase. Havoc noticed and grinned, moving past him into the cabin to retrieve the rest of the suitcases. 

     "Could you leave that one on the platform?" Roy pointed to the suitcase, and the conductor nodded. "I'm sure the Fullmetal Alchemist will come by and get it at his convenience."

     "Oh, him?" The conductor laughed, his face wrinkled enough to make his eyes disappear at the expression. "He's been in the dining car for the past two hours. Never seen a boy could put that much away at once."

     Roy shook his head, and picked up his briefcase. Havoc was right behind with their luggage, as Roy stepped off the train to find a line of men in military uniforms waiting for him. He squared his shoulders, his gaze traveling the line to determine ranks, to see if he needed to salute anyone in return. There were six, lowering their arms as he nodded, and one stepped forward, smiling nervously.

     "Brigadier General Mustang," the man said. He was Havoc's height, with thin brown hair that lay flat on his head except for a single cowlick at the back, which stood straight up, making him look as though he were perpetually startled. "I'm First Lieutenant Gautreau. Welcome to Hyle. We have a car waiting to take you to headquarters, where we'll debrief you―" He paused, his gaze darting back and forth between Roy and Havoc. "―Unless you'd rather relax after your trip, and have dinner...we can meet in the morning." He clasped his hands, waiting hopefully.

     Roy caught a flash of red, getting off at the far end of the train, and glanced over at Havoc. His First Lieutenant gave him a inscrutable look, but Roy had known the man long enough to understand that Havoc was neutral about it. Roy looked back at Gautreau, and smiled tightly.

     "Debriefing now is fine," he said. "Our luggage―"

     "I'll have someone take that to your rooms, sir," Gautreau said, and turned, waving to one of the men in line. Havoc handed him the luggage, grinning as the Major saluted him. Gautreau turned and headed for the car waiting by the station, in quick mincing steps that made Roy bite down on the inside of his lip to keep from smirking. 

     "Victoria Hogan, the Mechanical Alchemist, stayed here with her husband and daughter on their way to Soswell," Gautreau said, handing Roy several sheets from a folder. 

     They were ensconced in the headquarters' meeting room, with a large window looking out over the small city, and Roy tilted the sheet away from the window, against the late afternoon sun's glare. He glanced over the sheets, noting that one was a copy of the check-in for the officers' barracks. The Alchemist had arranged for two rooms; one for she and her husband, and a second one for their twelve-year old daughter. Roy nodded, flipping to the second page, which was a list of Hogan's known whereabouts while in Hyle.

     "When we heard you were coming, I had my staff speak to everyone who might've seen or dealt with her, while she was in town," Gautreau explained. "We didn't know she was missing, I'm afraid." He looked worried, and his nose twitched.

     "We're not certain she is missing," Roy answered smoothly. "She simply hasn't checked in, but she's a long-term field agent, who often spends months at a time on assignments."

     "She must be pretty important," Gautreau replied, his eyes wide. "I mean, to send a General after her." His eyes went wider. "Unless she'd done something illegal?"

     Roy noticed Havoc giving him an amused look, and he arched an eyebrow in response at Gautreau. "Not that I know of, unless your sources indicated some suspicious behavior?"

     "Oh, no, no," Gautreau said, frowning. "No, not really. Just some shopping, sight-seeing - we have some beautiful parks, and a zoo - and then after two days, Hogan and her family took a carriage to Soswell." 

     "Any word from Soswell whether she arrived?" Roy looked over the rest of the papers, and slid them across the table to Havoc.

     "We're still waiting for word," Gautreau replied. "We actually only found out about your arrival several hours ago, so my counterpart in Soswell might still be compiling any information." 

     "I see." Roy nodded, and clasped his hands in his lap, leaning back. "Did you have a chance to meet with the Mechanical Alchemist, while she was in town?"

     "I had dinner with her, the first night. My wife has a thing about Alchemists," Gautreau said, flushing slightly. "It's..." He shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Kind of a hero worship thing. But Hogan was very gracious about it. We had a wonderful time." He smiled, a bit wistfully. "She had just come from Rush Valley, and had the most amazing stories to tell..."

     "Mm." Roy looked over at Havoc, who was reading the papers carefully. "Did Hogan speak of her plans, in your presence?"

     "Not really." Gautreau gave Roy a bewildered look. "It's all in there. I wrote up my recollections of the evening, and put them in the file, as well. She said she was on assignment for General Wimmer. Something mechanical, I suppose, given that was her specialty." Gautreau eyed Roy's gloves, and the red array emblazoned on the back, then raised his gaze to meet Roy's. "I'm not really sure how that works, to be honest."

     "Affinity, and a great deal of study," Roy murmured, and stood. "We'll review these, and if I have any questions―"

     "―My staff is at your disposal, as am I," Gautreau said, standing as well. Havoc stood, and Gautreau saluted Roy. 

     "Thank you," Roy said, and left the room, Havoc right behind him. 

     In the hallway, they were quiet, until they'd left the building, walking across the street to the officer's barracks. Havoc tucked the folder under his arm, shoving his hands in his pockets as the chilly winter wind swept down the cobblestone streets. 

     "Sir," Havoc said, as they stepped onto the sidewalk, "is it just me, or does that man seem too mousy to have ever managed a promotion?"

     "Not really," Roy replied. He gave Havoc a pleased smirk. "You've just been working for me for too long."

     Havoc chuckled, and opened the door for Roy. 

     "This is why I don't like these kinds of things," Roy muttered, straightening his jacket one last time before the car arrived. "It's the endless hobnobbing."

     "And not the fact that the hostess is married?" Havoc's question was quiet, as though he didn't expect Roy to have heard him, and Roy let the insubordination pass without comment. 

     No, Roy thought, it really has little to do with that. He glanced around the barracks lobby, mildly annoyed that Edward had disappeared and had yet to show up again. He wondered where the young man was staying, and mentally shrugged. Edward wasn't along under his command, although he hoped Edward had gained the tact in early adulthood to realize upstaging Roy would not result in a pleased General. No, Roy thought, it's the feeling of being put on display, of knowing it's an evening where one's presence is being used for others to gain favor or prestige. 

     He sighed, and squared his shoulders, seeing the military car pull up in front of the barracks. Together, he and Havoc stepped out into the cold winter night, ready to deal with Gautreau and his wife, the Alchemist-worshipping hostess.

     The evening ended at nine, to Havoc's shock and Roy's private relief. Accepting their coats and the car ride back to the barracks, they split at the lobby, Havoc heading out to find the nearest bar. Roy shook his head at the invitation, unwilling to set aside the formality of their ranks, even for an evening. Trudging up the stairs to his room, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. This time, he checked the room completely before sinking down into the nearest chair with a sigh. He chuckled to realize he was still on edge from having let down his guard without realizing Edward was present. 

     After several minutes of contemplating the utter inanity of Gautreau's wife - who seemed to rival hamsters when it came to intellect - he pushed himself out of the chair and stripped off his jacket. Hanging it up, he dug around in his suitcase for his off-duty khakis. Changing into them, he left his shirt untucked as he turned in a circle, staring at the small room. The bed seemed comfortable enough, and the desk would be useful, he figured. 

     Assuming I actually wanted to do any work, he thought. None of the information in the file seemed useful, but it probably wouldn't hurt to review it again. And it was only nine-thirty, too; if he went to sleep now, he'd be awake before dawn. But what he wanted was a comfortable chair, like his chair at home, which was perfect for long hours sitting and reading the newspaper. Or, in this case, reading pages of transcripts; he sighed, and picked up the folder, leaving his room in search of the officer's lounge. 

     Most barracks had them, as a small room down at the end of each floor where off-duty officers could relax. Some even had small radios, or perhaps a turntable and a collection of records in the stereo cabinet. Roy was mostly hoping for a cup of tea, and he had to shake his head at the realization that he'd be sitting in a room where no one would bring him any. It made him pause, and he almost turned around and headed back to his room, but something made him continue forward. 

     When he walked into the lounge, somehow he wasn't surprised to see Edward sitting on the sofa. The young man's boots were on the floor by the sofa, one leg stretched out along the sofa, the other leg tucked under him. His head was down, and he was reading a newspaper. He didn't look up at first, when Roy walked in, then did, and his eyebrows shot up.

     "Thought you were supposed to be living the highlife at First Lieutenant Gautreau's place," Edward said, leaning back and resting his head on the back of the sofa as he smirked at Roy. 

     "Yes, well," Roy replied, looking around the room. The sofa faced a low table, and two chairs, each of which looked distinctly uncomfortable, and neither of which had foot rests. Edward's red coat was draped over the back of one. Roy preferred footrests, given the choice. He frowned absently at Edward.

     "They're as bad as they look," Edward said, jerking his head toward the chairs. "Fine, I'll make room," he added, grumpily, making a face before moving his leg to bring his knee up almost under his chin.

     "Mm." Roy was torn between giving Edward a smug look, and smiling in amusement. He settled for a sardonic glance, and settled at the opposite end of the sofa from Edward. Crossing his legs, he opened the folder and began reading over the notes Gautreau's staff had compiled.

     There was silence for several minutes, broken only by the sound of Edward turning the pages in the local newspaper. After a few minutes, Edward dropped the paper in his lap with a dramatic sigh. 

     "Too bad I never got assigned here for any reason," he announced. He kicked at the floor with one socked foot, then twisted sideways, throwing his leg over the arm of the sofa. "This place would've been a nice change."

     "Hm?" Roy was reading the shopkeeper comments about Hogan, and only distantly registered Edward's complaint. 

     "They _really_ like Alchemists, here." Edward scowled, and rustled the newspaper a few more times, flipping through the pages. "This is the newspaper from the bottom of the stack...dated two months ago. Three National Alchemists came through the town, and each one was announced in the paper." Edward snorted. "Surprised they didn't give a ticker tape parade or something, the way the newspaper carries on."

     Roy blinked, and looked up, staring blindly at the dark windows of the lounge as he measured Edward's words against what he'd been reading. It had seemed peculiar, somehow, given that most citizens in the country almost universally hated National Alchemists. He'd assumed the shopkeepers and military staff had adjusted their comments - or had been edited - to present their reports in the least insulting light. The possibility that these effusive commentaries were the original statements hadn't occurred to him.

     "You spent the day around the town," Roy hazarded. Edward nodded, his expression still distant, and Roy raised an eyebrow. "How were you treated?"

     Edward shrugged. "Okay, until someone saw my watch. Then it was like...royalty." He glanced sideways at Roy, a bit smug. "But I figured that was just my illustrious reputation."

     "Or infamous," Roy muttered.

     "Jealous?" 

     Roy didn't grace Ed's taunt with an answer, but shrugged. 

     "What time is it?" Edward sat up, dropping the newspaper as he glanced around the room.

     "You have a watch," Roy reminded him without looking up.

     "Hmph." Edward wriggled sideways, digging into his pocket and pulling out his watch. Flipping it open, he hummed under his breath for a second, then got up. "Gonna call Alphonse," he said, and was gone in a swirl of black coat and padded footsteps. 

     Roy watched the door swing halfway shut behind Edward, and shook his head. After a minute, he set down the papers, and decided he'd check down at the front lobby to find out about where he could get some tea. Something, he decided, since the chances of a good whiskey were probably nil. Closing the folder, he set it on the sofa, and headed for the door. It swung inward on silent hinges, and he was about to step into the hallway when he heard Edward's voice floating down the hallway towards him. In the empty space, it echoed eerily, and Roy found himself listening despite the firm knowledge that he shouldn't impose on Edward's call to his brother. 

     Second time in two days I'm eavesdropping, he thought, and shook his head at his own curiosity. My sources need improving if I'm sinking this low, he told himself with a wry smirk.

     "...No, Mustang's..." 

     Roy's ears perked, and he found he couldn't move out of the doorway, listening intently.

     "...Al, it's not like that. I mean, I know the General's been...yeah." Edward sighed noisily. "It's like...he's not there. At all. I don't know! Maybe someone replaced him with a much calmer replica or something."

     Roy snorted quietly. 

     "Oh, yeah...I know, I know." There was a thumping sound, which Roy recognized as Edward's automail foot banging against the plaster walls. "It's just...Gracia was worried, and I figured she was just being...y'know, _Gracia_. But she was right. It's like...he doesn't really care. He doesn't seem to be listening, and it's like...No, it's _different_...I don't know..." Edward's voice faded, then came back in a quiet hiss. "Alphonse...Mustang doesn't even...y'know...pick on me. Not _once_. Isn't that...weird?" 

     He was silent for several minutes, and Roy held his breath, wondering if Edward had hung up. But Edward's quiet chuckle echoed down the hallway, and Roy relaxed. 

     "Yeah, maybe. I mean, he _is _getting old...hard to tell."

     Roy rolled his eyes. 

     "Anyway, I don't know how long I'll be here. Hyle's okay...you'd like it. It's like Dublith - not too big, not too small - but here everyone likes National Alchemists. Cool, hunh...yeah...and then we head to Soswell, see what we can find out there...yeah. I will. Yeah, yeah, give her my love, too. No, Al...Al? That's not really..." Edward groaned, and cut it off abruptly. "Hey, Winly." 

     Edward fell quiet again, and Roy made a face, trying to keep from laughing, listening to the grumbling in Edward's tone. 

     "No. It's fine. No, no fights...yet. I mean, no! I won't break it. Yes, this morning! I even brought the oil with me!" Edward's voice went up to a dull shout. "Winly! Come on, I'm not― okay, that one time― okay, maybe twice." Edward made a strangled sound. "Three times. Fine! But I'm― look, I've got to go. Uh, someone needs the phone. Yeah, yeah, I will―"

     Roy stepped back into the lounge, closing the door softly, and quickly made his way to the sofa. He was settled into his spot, the folder open on his lap, when Edward stormed back in and threw himself down on the sofa with a huff. Roy glanced over, casually, and had to struggle to hide the smile at Edward's dark countenance. The young man was collapsed onto the sofa, his hips on the edge, his legs stretched out wide, his chin pressed almost to his chest as he glowered at nothing in particular. Roy figured that was his cue, and set the folder aside. 

     "I'm going for tea," he said, feeling a bit awkward at offering the explanation. Something twinged, remembering Ed's supposedly private words - _it's like...he doesn't really care...he doesn't seem to be listening_ - and Roy paused, wondering if he should say more. No, he told himself, if I do that now, he'll know I was listening. Roy frowned, a little surprised to find that he gave a damn what Edward thought of his behavior, and quietly closed the lounge door on the sulking young man.

     When he arrived in the front lobby, the evening clerk informed him they had no milk for tea, and Roy drummed his fingers on the front lobby desk. He'd been in the mood for some strong tea, with cream. It was a wintertime habit, really, and the cold winds rattling the window of the lounge were probably what had put him in the mood. 

     "We do have hot chocolate," the woman said, smiling nervously as she fingered the strands of gray hair hanging down from her bun, tucking them behind her ears. Roy stopped his annoyed fingers, and considered hot chocolate versus tea without cream. Then he thought of reading on the sofa, and Edward's phone call, and rather unexpectedly heard words coming from his mouth that he hadn't intended.

     "Two cups, actually," he told the woman, with a sly smile, as though letting her in on a secret. It worked, and she twittered and blushed, then disappeared into the back. A few minutes later she returned, still blushing, with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Roy took them with an abbreviated bow and a wink, and headed back up the stairs. 

     At the lounge's door, he stared down at the mugs, and wondered if he were insane for doing such a thing. He wasn't sure he would have offered, let alone done it, if it had been one of his dates. Normally they offered too soon for him to ever need to extend such hospitality; it was always as though every woman had to fall over herself to make sure he had the soft spot on the sofa, the just-right temperature of coffee, the spotlight, the consideration. Roy raised an eyebrow, amused at the comparison. The chances of Edward Elric ever going out of his way to make sure Roy Mustang had the softest cushion under his derriere were probably about as high as one of those damned flying pigs becoming the next Generalissimo. Roy shook his head at the mental picture, and pushed the lounge door open with his hip.

     Edward was still on the sofa, but he looked up with a frown when Roy entered. The frown grew deeper as Edward's gaze traveled down to the mugs in Roy's hands, and then - for just a second - the most brilliant smile flashed across his face, the eyebrows up in surprise, the mouth open in a little 'o' - and then it was gone, shuttered, locked away. 

     It made Roy's chest ache, but he steeled himself, and strode across the room, holding out one mug. "Hot chocolate," he said, a bit gruffly. 

     "Oh." Edward stared at the mug, then took it, sipping gingerly.

     "It's not poisoned," Roy said, without looking. He set his mug on the table, and took his seat again, opening the folder to where he'd left off. Then he leaned forward, picking up the mug, and resting it on the arm of the sofa as he went back to reading. Edward slurped noisily at the other end of the sofa.

     Roy wanted to smile. He didn't dare. Instead he studied the transcripts, and allowed some small, secret part of himself to enjoy the moment.   

* * *

Characters and environment owned by Arakawa Hiromu and Square-Enix. Speculation about the post-series world is completely my own; I've seen only through episode 28 and read only up to chapter 16. 

Gratitude especially to **Arithion** and **Maldoror**, for their reviews of tidbits and encouragement, and thanks to **Zania**, for archiving me even if it's not her usual fandom. (I'm working on her, though...) Also many thanks to those who take the time to drop me a line about the last chapter and let me know at least a few people are reading: **Zazreil**, **RuByMoOn17**, **gravel**, **Stardancer1**, **Wai-Aki**, **Amanda**, **Maaya**, **Tiercel**, **elihice**, **shukiai**. Your comments and crits are greatly appreciated! ;D


	4. shadow of desire: distant

          _If others had not been foolish, we should be so._  
                  ― William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

**4: distant         **

     "This is Major Whitmere," Gautreau said with a smile as the man followed him into the meeting room. "He's come down from Soswell with the information about the Mechanical Alchemist."

     Roy nodded at the man's salute, and accepted the papers. Absently pulling his coat tails out of the way, Roy took the nearest seat, flipping quickly through the two pages. Havoc was at his right, waiting with the rest of the transcripts they'd accumulated. It took only a minute, and Roy was handing the two pages to Havoc.

     "She arrived, and then left," Roy said, frowning slightly. Gautreau and Whitmere sat opposite him, a striking contrast. Where Gautreau was lanky, with thinning brown hair, Whitmere was squat, with curly blond hair that looked like someone had glued yellow carpet to a billiards ball. Whitmere's expression, however, was not nearly as obsequious as Gautreau's.

     "Yes, sir," Whitmere said. "As you can see from the copy of the military reports, she filed her presence with us, and then continued over the mountain towards Youswell."

     "Why wasn't Central notified of this?" Roy narrowed his eyes, but kept his demeanor calm.

     "They were," Whitmere said, also tensing. He pursed his lips, his eyes on the ceiling before giving Roy a puzzled look. "The paperwork was sent off in our weekly mailing, along with the usual reports." 

     "She arrived, signed in, stayed the night, and left with her family." Roy stated it flatly. Whitmere nodded, and Roy turned his chair to stare out the window at the small valley town. "Did she meet with anyone else? Did she discuss her plans with anyone other than with you, when checking in?"

     "Ah..." Whitmere shrugged. "No. She said something about wanting to meet with the Cragrock Alchemist, but I think Cragrock arrived a week too late."

     "Cragrock," Roy murmured.

     "Elidia Yasika," Havoc told him, in an undertone.

     "She's been in the town for two months, now," Whitmere said. "Lovely woman. She's been infinitely helpful with our mining operations."

     Roy nodded, still pondering the news that Hogan had continued over the mountains. Shifting in his chair, he turned to study Whitmere and Gautreau, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. "Hogan crossed the mountains with her family...in October, it would have been?"

     "Early October," Whitmere said. He pointed to the paper in Havoc's hands. "The exact date is there."

     "October eighth," Havoc read. 

     "Are the roads well-traveled?" Roy kept his voice light, with just a hint of curiosity and puzzlement. 

     "We have a lot of traffic between Youswell and Soswell, sharing technology and miners, as each cycle through operations." Whitmere glanced at Gautreau, who nodded and smiled.

     "It's back and forth, all the time," Gautreau said. 

     "When one project ends," Whitmere explained, "half the town picks up and heads over to the other. Then they come back when we hit another vein. With the Cragrock Alchemist in Soswell, though, most of the work's been pretty steady on our side."

     "What's her specialty?" Roy cocked his head, keeping his eyes wide. 

     "Tunnels," Whitmere said, laughing. "She can clear out fifty feet of solid rock..." He snapped his fingers, and chuckled. 

     "Like that," Roy murmured, smiling just a little. He glanced at Havoc; the man's smile was subdued but his eyes showed his amusement at the private joke he and Roy were sharing. Roy's eyebrow twitched, and he gave Whitmere and Gautreau a pleasant smile, and stood. "Gentlemen, it seems to me that perhaps we should continue on, to Soswell and then to Youswell."

     "It's mid-December," Whitmere said. "The roads are much rougher now, and if you're not used to mountain travel..."

     "Are they completely impassable?"

     "Not really." Whitmere considered it for a moment. "Just difficult."

     "We'll head to Soswell, and speak with Cragrock, then," Roy replied. Havoc stood as well, saluting the other two officers, who saluted Roy in turn. Roy nodded, and led the way from the meeting room. 

     Roy made a disgruntled sound, looking at the paper taped to the door of his temporary quarters. Flipping the note open, he read the carefully scrawled lines, then read them a second time, tempted to snap his fingers and torch the innocent letter.

     _Brig. Gen.― Gone to Soswell. You take too long and talk too much. ― Fullmetal._

He shoved the letter in his pocket, and smiled wryly. Then he went to make a phone call to headquarters.

     "Ready for Soswell, sir?" Havoc stuck his head in Roy's open doorway, as Roy set the packed suitcase down on the floor. 

     "Almost," Roy said. "The paperwork for Hogan's check-in arrived yesterday in Central," he added, conversationally.

     Havoc whistled and leaned against the doorframe. "Just over two months late."

     "Impeccable timing," Roy agreed blandly. 

     "So why aren't we heading to Central...if you don't mind me asking, sir," Havoc said, and grinned.

     Roy paused in packing his briefcase, and shook his head curtly. "I'm not entirely certain. I expected the same thing, myself, if Hogan's whereabouts are now known..." 

     He considered that. Whitmere had implied that Hogan's work would be in the mining camps, dealing with the technology used to raise the ore from deep in the earth. It would be two days hike to the site, and two days back again. The majority of the workers were actually in the town itself, dealing with the smelting operations. Still, messages would be carried back and forth, and it should not have been an issue for Hogan to check in again in Youswell. He shook his head, and snapped the locks on his briefcase. 

     "Soswell, First Lieutenant," Roy said, sharply. "Carriage leaves in an hour."

     "Already packed, sir," Havoc replied. "Just coming by to get your luggage."

     "Ah." Roy checked the room one more time, and made sure he had the key for the front desk. Patting his pocket, he heard something rustle, and he pulled out Edward's note. Frowning, he looked it over and shook his head again at Edward's childish handwriting. Some things, he told himself, will never change. 

     It was a comforting thought.

     "Carriage?" Roy gave Havoc a surprised look, and Havoc stepped away from the automobile with a wide grin. "I thought―"

     "No, sir," Havoc said. "Apparently Elric arranged transportation for us." 

     Roy eyed the vehicle suspiciously. "Did you―"

     "Checked it over already," Havoc said, opening the door for Roy. "I'm pretty sure it won't blow up, or fall apart. Apparently he told someone he wanted to see the countryside, and they said he could use the car. Found the note and keys in my room when I came back after lunch."

     "And you just now thought to tell me about it?" Roy got in, settling himself and crossing his arms, watching as Havoc circled the car to get in behind the wheel. "This seems to be turning into a habit," he added, under his breath.

     "Elric's request, sir," Havoc said, putting one arm over the seats, turning to give Roy a grin. "He thought you'd take it better if it were a surprise."

     An Elric peace offering, Roy mused, and smirked. Havoc's grin got wider, understanding at least the reaction if not the thoughts, and he started up the car with a soft chuckle. Ten minutes later, they had left Hyle behind, and were on the main road heading for Soswell.

     Roy stared out the window, watching the forest get thicker as the road climbed into the mountains, and pondered the evening before. Edward had finished off his hot chocolate quite quickly, seeming to enjoy it, and Roy didn't want to break the mood by pointing out that hot chocolate was a combination of cocoa powder, sugar, and the dreaded milk. He'd read through his notes and the paperwork at least twice, before realizing that Edward had fallen asleep on the other end of the sofa, sprawled out with his head against the back, one leg over the arm, and the other leg stretched out onto the floor. Roy had stared for a long time, seeing the utter relaxation of sleep, and the slack-jawed pleasure Edward seemed to get from his dreams. 

     He had wondered what he looked like when he slept. One lover had once told Roy that he frowned even while sleeping, and Roy frowned, then, remembering the comment. Idly he'd put a finger to his forehead, feeling the ridge of muscle, the line etched between his brows. He could see faint traces of the same line in Edward's forehead, and it made him sad, rather than amused. He had stood, as quietly as possible, planning to return with a blanket, for no reason that he could comprehend. It was simply, suddenly, that he felt like doing so.

     When he'd returned, not more than five minutes later, Edward was gone, as were his boots and his coat. Roy had made a point of shrugging to the empty room, as though eyes were still watching him. He had carried the spare blanket back to his room, and gone to bed. 

     He had been, and still was, discomforted by his uncharacteristic behavior, after years of managing the subtle balance between himself and the Elric brothers. It was a balance based on caring for Edward, and by extension Alphonse, but never breaking it with words. Roy had stared at the blank ceiling of the officers' quarters, and the shadows moving from the trees outside the window, and snorted at the game in mild exasperation. He'd cared; he'd always cared, and everyone around him knew it. Alphonse knew it, certainly, and perhaps Edward, but it was an unspoken rule of engagement that such should never be admitted. He'd worked from the start to make sure Edward didn't see him as a hero, or a savior, helping Edward along in his journey. No, Roy had decided eight years ago that better Edward fight his own battles, and believe them to be his own victories. 

     And now I am changing the rules, Roy thought, and stared out the car window, wrapping his arms tighter around him despite the heater going full blast in the front seat. Or perhaps they're changing around me, he pondered, wondering if his impulses were simply recognition of the truth. Edward was no longer that wide-eyed boy in the Central train station, breathless and shocked from the sight of Roy blistering a criminal into a smoking hulk of flesh. He was a National Alchemist with abilities and powers in his own right, and a brilliant one at that, with a mercurial mind that often left Roy breathless in return. 

     Not that I'd ever admit it, Roy thought, and ducked his chin to smile into his collar. Another unspoken rule of the game, he knew.

     Havoc was humming something under his breath, a tuneless kind of whisper in the front seat. Roy let his mind wander back to the question of a National Alchemist who seemingly disappears for two months, and then reappears with no questions asked. The loss of paperwork, for two months, was unlikely, Roy reminded himself. Such paperwork would have been bundled, and one sheet slipping from the stack and being lost was a truly rare occurrence. When it did happen, it was usually accompanied by the loss of other paperwork as well. 

     "General," Havoc said, breaking Roy from his thoughts. "Looks like we may have company."

     "Wha―oh." Roy looked up to see a carriage ahead of them, on the side of the road. The harnesses were empty, the horse team gone, and the only movement was a red cloth draped over the side of the carriage. Havoc pulled the car up alongside, and the red cloth resolved itself into the hem of Edward's coat. Edward was laying on top of the carriage, one leg up, the other leg swinging idly off the side. Havoc stopped the car, and got out. After a grunt of exasperation, Roy followed.

     "Fullmetal," Roy called up to the carriage. "When you've done celebrating that for once you're taller than everything around you, I'd like to hear an explanation of just what you did this time."

     "You calling me short?" Edward hopped to his feet, and stared down at Roy, glowering. His brows were lowered, but his grin looked more exultant than annoyed, despite the fact that he was waving one fist dramatically as he shouted. "Who's so _short_ he could stand _under _the carriage and not get _hit _when it goes right _over _him!"

     Roy raised his eyebrows and waited. Edward glowered for a few seconds longer before throwing down his suitcase and clambering off the top of the carriage. Edward jumped down from the ladder, and brushed himself off before crossing his arms, bracing his feet as he glared at Roy.

     "Wheel came off," Edward said, as if that explained everything. "Axle broke."

     "Looks fine to me," Roy replied. 

     "I fixed it," Edward retorted. "But the horses got spooked, and they took off. Driver went after them."

     Roy frowned, and Edward took it the wrong way, of course.

     "I am not a Horse-chasing Alchemist!" 

     "No," Roy demurred, the spark reappearing as the taunt came to his lips. It was almost...enjoyable, his mind supplied, to find the energy to jab Edward as he once had. "But you're the perfect size to be one of those little lawn jockeys..."

     Oddly, Edward looked like he was somewhere between exploding in fury and grinning manically. "But _you're_ the original model, General," and he put a hand on his waist, twisting his body so his hip jutted out. He tossed the other hand up in front of his nose, pinky out as though holding an invisible cup of tea, and tilted his head backwards, nose in the air. He gave Roy a sly look from under his eyelashes, then smirked outright. 

     Havoc coughed, and Roy closed his mouth on his retort. Instead, he settled for arching an eyebrow. Edward relaxed with a sharp grin. Score one for me, the look said, and Roy almost rolled his eyes, but said nothing. 

     "Well, boss, you want a ride, then?" Havoc opened the back door of the car. Edward grunted, giving Roy a satisfied look, before picking up his suitcase and throwing it over the seat into the trunk. Havoc beckoned to Roy, who sighed and got in after Edward.

     Within minutes, they'd passed the driver leading the four horses. Edward waved, but he didn't ask to get out, and neither Havoc nor Roy suggested it. Soon the winter shadows under the trees lengthened into late afternoon. A soft purring sound came from the other side of the back seat, and Roy looked over to see Edward curled up, twisted so his feet were almost at Roy's thigh. Edward's head was on his knees, and he seemed to be drowsing. Strands of gold hair lay across his face, fluttering softly with every breath. 

     That can't be comfortable, Roy thought, noting the thin line between Edward's brows as it appeared and faded, and he wondered what thoughts preoccupied the young man. Roy pushed the curiosity from his mind, and turned to stare out the window. There was something still bothering him about the entire assignment, and daydreaming would just have to wait until he'd figured it out.

     Roy flipped the suitcase open on the bed and glared at the neatly folded garments. Setting aside his change of uniform and making a mental note to find out if there were a laundry in Soswell, he changed quickly into his off-duty khakis. There were no officer's barracks in Soswell; instead, he and Havoc had been put up at Whitmere's residence, which consisted of the top two floors over the military headquarters. The guest rooms were on the top floor, five stories above the twisting alleys that passed for streets in Soswell. The town sat halfway up the mountain, and the narrow streets and tall buildings made it feel like everything had been piled up on top of what came before, tilted and leaning. Roy stretched, noting the overstuffed chair by the fireplace, the decadent bedding, and the heavy drapery for shutting out winter draughts. Definitely more than he was used to, and he had to grin at that.

     I am too military, he thought, if draperies make me uneasy. 

     He dug his notepad and a pen out from his suitcase, and went in search of the small sitting area the First Lieutenant had mentioned. Edward had, once again, disappeared as soon as they'd arrived in Soswell, leaving Roy and Havoc and deal with First Lieutenant Tartleton, the town's administrator. The man had been utterly useless, but yammered on for nearly two hours about the most inconsequential things. The only knowledge of any value from the entire exhausting process was that the Cragrock Alchemist was recovering from her last mining project and wouldn't be available until the next day. The other important piece was that the phone lines were down, and had been for three months. Apparently the First Lieutenant - and most of the town - thought nothing of the two-hour car ride, or five-hour carriage ride, just to make a single phone call from Hyle. 

     Stupid trees, Roy thought, which made him think of the desert. No, he decided, better a mile of trees than ten miles of sand. But still, even just one month should be plenty of time to deal with a fallen tree and fix the lines, he thought, and pushed open the door to the guest lounge.

     He was unsurprised to see Edward sitting with his back to the arm of the sofa, his legs stretched out, boots in disarray on the carpet. He was reading another newspaper, and lowered it long enough to glare at Roy before raising it again. Fortunately there was a second sofa, facing the first, its high back to the door. Roy shrugged at the raised newspaper, moving to sit opposite Edward. He crossed his legs and uncapped his pen, doodling a bit on the paper as he let his thoughts fall into some sort of pattern. 

     The windows rattled with the wind, and Roy glanced at the fireplace, considering lighting a fire. He decided against it, not feeling the chill quite yet. There were two side chairs, that looked like dining chairs pressed into service as spare seating; a white knitted throw lay decoratively across the seat of one of the chairs. A number of pictures of former administrators hung on the walls, most of them in uniform, ceremonial swords polished to a glow and displayed proudly. Roy dropped his gaze, uninterested in the generic decorating style that seemed to pervade every officers' lounge.

     When the clock struck eight, Roy realized he had yet to write anything down, mostly preoccupied with trying to read the headlines on the newspapers Edward was reading. Edward seemed to be looking for something, and would read each quickly, then drop it with a disgusted snort, lean over the arm of the sofa, and drag out another day's paper. By Roy's count, Edward was on his sixteenth newspaper, and Roy set the notepad and pen down on the low table between the sofas. He was hungry, and the First Lieutenant had mentioned the headquarters' cook would be available in the kitchen. 

     I'll be back in a few, he wanted to say, but didn't. He halted at the door, and considered saying it anyway, but a glance over his shoulder told him Edward was still busily turning the pages. Roy shook his head, and went in search of the kitchen. 

     He found it, ten minutes later, and the lone worker smiled politely and took his order for a simple roast beef sandwich and a cup of tea, with cream. The man was just turning away, to make the order, when Roy called him back, and added a second sandwich to his request, and changed the tea to a carafe of hot chocolate.

     "Oh," the man said, scratching his head. "Two sandwiches? Sorry, General, I thought you were alone upstairs."

     Roy was about to explain, but his instincts made him stop. "I'm going to be up late," he said with an easy smile. "Better to get enough for now and a snack later, than interrupt myself to come back." 

     "Yes, sir," the cook replied, and ten minutes later Roy had a tray with two good-sized sandwiches on one plate and enough hot chocolate to drown Edward, if he chose. Roy smirked at the thought and snagged a second mug while the cook wasn't looking.

     When he pushed open the door to the lounge, Edward lowered the newspaper with a snapping sound. 

     "Mustang, you're the laziest―" Edward's eyes went wide, then narrowed. "Not polite to eat in front of other people," he grumbled, and raised the newspaper again.

     "Mm," Roy said, setting the tray down on the table. He poured one cup of hot chocolate and set it down by his notepad. Then he poured a second cup, and set it over on Edward's side of the table. Picking up one of the sandwiches, he leaned back, crossed his legs, and began scribbling his thoughts on the notepad. 

     He didn't have to wait long. The newspaper rustled, and Edward sniffed, quietly, then the newspaper rustled again. Roy purposefully kept his eyes glued to the notepad, writing out a list of the people he'd met, their positions, and general attitude. In the corner of his eye, though, he could see an automail hand sneak out from behind the newspaper, grope for the mug, and then retract, taking the mug with it. There was the sound of quiet slurping, then silence. Roy took a bite from his sandwich and chewed noisily, finishing it off with the realization that he'd been much hungrier than he'd expected. 

     Slouching further down on the sofa, he propped the notepad up on his knee, as if blocking his vision. The newspaper pages were flipped a few more times, and the empty mug reappeared on the table. A few minutes later, the hand snaked out again and stole the second sandwich, and Roy had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

     Rules of the game, he told himself. 

     Soon, Roy could hear munching, punctuated by satisfied humming. Taking advantage of the covering noise, he leaned forward and poured another cup of hot chocolate into Edward's mug, then sat back and sipped his own. He stared down at his notes, drawing lines and squiggles between the names as he pondered the question of why the Generalissimo's assistant had told him to continue his investigation, even though Hogan was reportedly in Youswell. If she had been purposefully absent without leave, a military investigator should be tracking her down, not a Brigadier General in charge of Alchemists - and certainly not a Brigadier General who was not even her commanding officer. If, however, it was a foul-up in the paperwork, an administrative investigator should be dispatched to Soswell to review their processes. 

     Which is reason enough, Roy decided, to be especially on guard. His original assignment - to find the Alchemist - was nothing unusual, and the best officer would have gone, regardless of whether he or she was the Alchemist's direct commanding officer. But the complications of― 

     Roy felt that prickle on the back of his neck, and realized Edward had lowered the newspaper and was watching him carefully. Roy glanced up, raising his eyebrows but saying nothing.

     "Two months of newspapers," Edward said, and twisted to drop the most recent newspaper back on the stack, by the sofa legs. "And there's not a single comment about Alchemists. Not at all like in Hyle. There's plenty of advertisements about sports league games against Youswell, and upcoming projects. There's not even a mention of that rock alchemist―"

     "Cragrock," Roy murmured.

     "Yeah." Edward leaned back, stretching broadly, his hands in fists. He yawned dramatically and got up, coming over to seat himself next to Roy, looking curiously at the notepad in Roy's hands. "What are you writing?"

     Roy frowned, and was tempted to swat Edward on the nose with the notepad. He vetoed that idea, and leaned forward for his mug, unsurprised when Edward scowled and pointed at his own. Roy set down his mug, retrieved Edward's, and then picked up his own, sipping cautiously. He made a face; it had cooled, but it was still drinkable. 

     "I'm just reviewing the information," Roy said. "Trying to look at it from a different angle."

     "Don't think you'll find out much from her," Edward said, pointing to the name on the sheet: Cragrock Alchemist. Edward yawned again, and rubbed one eye with the heel of his left hand. "She's cool, but she doesn't know anything about the other Alchemist."

     Roy was startled. "I was told she's recuperating."

     "Oh, she is." Edward shrugged, and gave Roy a wily grin. "But she still answers the door when you knock." He slurped his hot chocolate, and made a face. "This really isn't as good as the stuff in Hyle."

     "I'll be sure to tell the cook," Roy replied, dryly. 

     Edward sniffed and finished off the last of his second cup, setting it on the table. "Had a nice visit with Yasika. She's like...eighty! And only..." He waved one hand, vaguely, in the direction of the table, and Roy blinked, not sure what Edward meant. "She's..._short_," Edward explained, and Roy nearly snorted his hot chocolate through his nose. When Edward glared, Roy schooled his face into a suitably patronizing expression. 

     "Fine," Edward said, throwing himself against the back of the sofa with a huff. "See if I help you."

     "Mm." Roy tapped on the paper, next to Hogan's name. "An alchemist who specializes in mechanical properties would be of huge value to a mining operation. I would think any late arrival on her part would have spurred a huge search."

     "Yeah, unless someone else wants those skills more," Edward pointed out, his crankiness gone. He slouched down further, resting his head against the back of the sofa, his eyes closed. "Who else would give a damn about someone who can make little machines and cogs and wheels..." His voice trailed off, and he was quiet, then shook himself, sitting up. He glowered at Roy, as if daring him to say something. 

     Roy had to. "You've been sleeping a great deal."

     "Always do, on trains, cars..." Edward looked confused, and ran a hand through his bangs. "Now's when I'm awake." He yawned widely.

     "I can see that."

     Edward muttered something rude under his breath and tapped his finger on Roy's notepad. "I bet she likes wrenches, too."

     "Possibly," Roy agreed, his mind going back to Edward's earlier comment. "Who else would want a Mechanical Alchemist? Especially since she was―" Something bumped him in the shoulder, and he absently elbowed Edward back, then blinked when he was bumped again. He looked at his shoulder, and got a mouthful of golden hair. Sputtering slightly, Roy wiped at his mouth with his hand and leaned over, surprised to see Edward was asleep. He twisted, grimacing as Edward swayed, and cautiously put his left hand on Edward's automail shoulder, shaking gently. 

     "Fullmetal..." Roy paused when Edward didn't responds, and tried again. "Elric..."

     "Edward," came the soft response, interrupted by a huge yawn and a sigh. "My name...not at work..."

     "You _are_ at work," Roy replied, wryly. "We were discussing work, at least, so technically..." He watched, somewhere between shocked and amused, when Edward growled softly, a light scowl crossing his face, his eyes still closed. A second later, Edward fell forward, his braid whipping behind him from the speed of the move. Roy just managed to catch Edward from doing a face-plant into his kneecap, and hauled the young man back upright. Edward mumbled something inaudible and tilted sideways into Roy again, swatting at Roy's hand on his shoulder.

     Exasperated, Roy tossed his notepad onto the table. If Edward were going to crash wherever he liked, Roy decided, then Roy would just use the other sofa. Roy had no sooner decided on the course of action, than he'd also realized Edward's head was now in his lap. 

     Roy froze.

     Edward, however, poked Roy's thigh a few times without opening his eyes, and muttered something that sounded like 'Alphonse.' Edward's feet were still on the carpet, his legs half-off the sofa, and he raised one leg, kicked it a few times, and missed the edge of the sofa. The foot fell with a thump back to the carpet, Edward sighed deeply, and began making the odd purring snore Roy had heard from him on the way to Soswell. Roy realized he was completely tensed, his arms raised over his head as if in surrender. He lowered his hands, feeling immensely awkward. Frowning, he patted Edward, and then shook him. 

     One part of his brain was mildly relieved that Edward's automail shoulder was not the shoulder pressed against Roy's thigh. A smaller but noisier part was cackling madly at the fact that the Fullmetal Alchemist purred in his sleep. 

     "One more time," Roy muttered, grunting as he tried to lift Edward up so Roy could ease out from under. The automail hand resting on his knee was attached to a sleeping body with other ideas, and Roy nearly yelped as the hand tightened, pinching the skin through his khakis. 

     "Al, hold still," Edward grumbled, wriggling to get comfortable, seemingly unaware of Roy staring down at him, wide-eyed. Edward said something else that sounded like, 'wake me when we get there,' followed it with a few smacking sounds, and gradually fell still. 

     Oh, hell, Roy thought, and sighed deeply, feeling highly put-upon. He snorted again, looking down at Edward's slack face, several strands of hair drifting back and forth across Ed's nose, which twitched in response. Roy stared at his notepad, on the coffee table, and started to lean forward. The motion pushed his chest against Edward's head, however, and Edward growled in his sleep. Roy sat back quickly, not sure he'd want to test what Edward might do, half-asleep, if he thought he were threatened. It wasn't like Roy could just take away Edward's chalk, and prevent an explosive array so simply.

     Roy stared at his notepad, and realized his arms were up again. He started to cross them, but that meant he was inadvertently using Edward's cheek as an elbow rest. Roy frowned and uncrossed his arms, placing one across the back of the sofa, and the other along the armrest. It wasn't his normal position, but Edward murmured something and stretched a little. Roy glowered at the room, and pondered the fact that normally Edward seemed to fall asleep and pop right back up again, wide-awake, as though a switch were being flipped.

     Something, Roy thought...but another part of him was almost pleased with the fact that perhaps this meant he was in the same category as Alphonse. It was rather flattering in a way, given that he wasn't sure he could say he had ever allowed anyone else such trust, except perhaps Hughes, once... Roy sighed, pushing away the memories of passing out after drinking all night with Hughes, and waking up with Hughes' foot as his pillow. The rest of Hughes had mysteriously ended up on the floor beside the sofa, rather than on it like he'd been as they matched each other's shots in adolescent competition. Roy smiled at the recollection and leaned his head against the back of the sofa, shifting gradually until he was comfortable. Edward shifted as well, rolling over and pulling his legs onto the sofa as he pressed his nose against Roy's hip. His automail shoulder, flush against Roy's thigh, wasn't nearly as unyielding as Roy had expected.

     Roy could only stare down at the sleeping man, and shake his head in dismay. Please, he thought, don't let Havoc stop by and see if I'm up. This is not a suitable position for an officer and... Roy frowned, staring down at Edward's hair, glimmering in the lamplight, the braid on Roy's thigh a dull gold in the yellowed glow. I'm not technically his commanding officer any more, he reminded himself. For all intents and purposes, we're equals on this trip, since we're both answering to Generalissimo Thayer. 

     I still outrank him, Roy reassured himself, his eyes sinking closed. 

     His eyes snapped open, and he twisted his head to see the time. Only fifteen minutes had passed, but the room had grown chilly. Roy yawned and grumbled under his breath. He'd seen an afghan on one of the chairs, and he yawned again, then grinned when he spotted it on the nearest side chair. Roy leaned forward, and heard another growl. A hand under Edward's head, lifting the young man up, got the same response, along with a few curses and a drawn-out, "Stop tha..."

     Roy angled himself, sinking down a little on the sofa, and stretched one leg out. He grinned triumphantly when he managed to hook the leg of the chair, dragging it towards him across the carpet. Twisting carefully, he snagged the afghan with one hand, and pulled it off the chair. Holding it up, he studied Edward for a second, and decided if Edward thought he could sleep where he liked, then he'd have to deal with being completely under the afghan. With that thought, Roy snapped the afghan open, letting it unfurl across them. His eyes were half-closed, and his hand moved by feel alone, automatically tucking the blanket in behind Edward so his back wasn't exposed to the chilly night air. Then Roy leaned back, pulling the blanket up under his chin, and fell into sleep as well.

     "One more time," Roy insisted, childishly stomping his foot. "And then I'll come in, I pro―" 

     The dream disappeared with a sudden whoosh louder than any dream had the right to be. Roy opened his eyes, and wondered when the light had gone out, before he realized the room was lit only by the fireplace's glow. There was a weight across his stomach. A hand was tucked against the small of his back, between Roy's body and the sofa cushion. Roy's right hand was resting on someone's shoulder, and Roy blinked, feeling his eyes sting. He coughed, slightly, and pulled the afghan off with his left hand, gasping when the air wasn't much cooler with the afghan gone. He could hear the crackling fire, and wondered if Havoc were truly so sadistic as to not wake him and offer help to pry Edward off him. The heat from the fireplace was overwhelming; Roy wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. 

     He rubbed his eyes again, and shook Edward with his right hand, but the young man didn't respond. Roy rolled his eyes, struggling to wake up through the haze of sleep and lingering dreams. Then he realized something that made his blood run cold despite the warmth in the room. 

     There was no fire in the fireplace. 

     Sitting upright, ignoring Edward's startled sleepy grunt, Roy twisted on the sofa. Dread filled him as he looked over his shoulder towards the door. The door was solid flame. Fire was licking up the plaster walls, eating at the molding along the ceiling. 

     They were trapped.

* * *

Characters and environment owned by Arakawa Hiromu and Square-Enix. Speculation about the post-series world is completely my own; I've seen only through episode 28 and read only up to chapter 16. 

Many thanks to those reading, with extra thanks to **Arithion** for helping me cull and streamline when my description verged on purple. (Yeah, sometimes it happens.) Also thanks to: **Sakka**, **Amanda**, **Maldoror**, **RuByMoOn17**, **Stardancer1**, **Zaz**, **Tayles**, **Elihice**, **Kiena**, **Pellaz**, **Porcelain**, **Nix**, **Jaelle**, **Tiercel**, **Maaya**, and **everyone else** reading and liking. Crits and comments are much appreciated. ;D


	5. shadow of desire: torn

_The apple tree never asks the beech how he shall grow;  
          __nor the lion, the horse, how he shall take his prey._  
                  ― William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

        ****

**5: honor           **

     Roy reacted before he even realized he was moving, his eyes tracking the fire's path up to the ceiling. The lamp by the door exploded. Oil sparked into flame and the liquid arced downwards to splatter across the rug. In that heartbeat of time, Roy had already shaken Edward violently and gotten no response. Roy didn't have time to get the leverage to throw Edward over his shoulder, but pulled the blanket-wrapped figure into his arms. He came his feet, juggling Edward once until Edward's nose was against his neck, and dashed from the sofa to the far wall by the window. 

     Dropping to his knees by the window, he pulled the blanket over Edward's face again, and set him down. Staying low to avoid the gray smoke obscuring the ceiling, Roy reached up and yanked hard on the curtains. Both heavy drapes fell down, the brass curtain rod clattering on the wood floor.

     Five floors, Roy thought, cursing fluently. If Edward were awake, his alchemy would make escape a simple procedure, out the window and straight down the side of the building. But Edward was completely unconscious, and Roy spared a single breath to register the hot chocolate had to have been drugged. His own mind felt fuzzy, his reflexes dampened. He let the drapes fall in a rough fold, double thickness. Furling it quickly across himself and Edward, he pressed them up against the wall and dug in his pocket.

     One piece of chalk - the alchemist's constant companion - and Roy steadied it in his fingers, coughing at the thickening smoke. His hand paused on the plaster, seeking backwards through years of study and research to remember the inversion. He coughed again, pulling the drapes farther over his head, and brought Edward closer to him. One stroke, wiped off with the heel of his hand. A second attempt: the triangle shifted thirty-degrees. Stroke and circle. Symbol and pattern. Roy glanced across the room, watching his oldest friend and truest enemy. Something inside him laughed at the maxim that one should keep enemies closest.

     Roy couldn't warn Edward. No way would Edward hear him or wake, if he hadn't so far, but Roy moved without thinking. A quick exertion of muscles and Edward was curled between Roy's legs. Roy covered them both with the drapes, and tucked Edward's head under his chin.  

     Then he took a deep breath and slammed his left hand down on the array.

     Light flared out, blue stripping to green and crackling at the edges. Roy gritted his teeth, holding Edward in place with his legs. Turning a little, he lowered the edge of the drapes over his head, watching the progress. The light poured through the room, green snapping against the red flames. The green continued to grow, flooding out the red. Roy's vision swum, but he kept his hand on the array, feeding it. Edward choked against his chest. The fire was hedging backwards, beaten and starved by the alchemical reaction. Edward gasped, and his body began flailing. Roy braced himself and pulled Edward closer. Edward threw his head back; eyes closed, lips turning blue. The young man's body thrashed, each movement pushing them away from the wall. Roy's hand being pried was being from the array as Edward's body shook in his arms, convulsively fighting for air. 

     Only Roy's fingertips remained against the chalk lines, but he kept his grip fierce on Edward. The crackling fire was fading; perhaps the blood pounding in his ears was too loud. Roy swayed, and dug his fingertips into the plaster. Edward's struggles were growing weaker. 

     It took a heartbeat for Roy to realize the pounding was not his blood. Or perhaps the pounding at the door was in time with his heart, hammering to be free of his ribcage. He could see the flares of sparks, last smoldering moments of fire. Only another minute more, his teacher's voice whispered in his ear. He forced away the knowledge that Edward had gone limp in his arms. He forced away the dark room, the fading sounds. He couldn't yell, without air. He couldn't warn, without oxygen in his lungs. He couldn't take his hand from the array, for fear that―

     The door burst open, flooding the room with oxygen.

     Roy's entire world exploded.

     Movement; his body was raised, carried. Crackling and pouring; someone was shouting in the background. Fireworks of hot-white danced in the inside of his eyelids. Roy couldn't sense Edward against him, and he floundered, sensing the flames were too close. Edward, he told himself, desperate, I need to― 

     But he couldn't speak, only cough. The world was spinning, twirling in the darkness of his eyelids. A hand pressed itself into his jaw, the fingers tightening cruelly, prising his mouth open. Bitter liquid ran down his throat, and Roy coughed. He tried to spit it out, but fingers were holding his jaw shut. Fingertips against his lips, pressing. Roy choked, the liquid searing as he swallowed. 

     Then everything faded again.

     _Damn_ was the first comprehensible thought he could manage. It was soon followed by a flurry of cuss words, most of which came and went too quickly. The blaze in his body grew as he struggled to wake, and the shattering pain pushed everything else out of his mind. Roy lay still, cataloging the sensation, bringing the ache to his breast, and cradling it close as an old friend. Significant burns on his left hand, he knew, perhaps some minor nerve damage, but not too deep. He tensed and relaxed the muscles throughout his body. Legs: fine. Lower back, mild pain. Right hand: fine. Right upper arm: significant pain.

     Biting down on a scream as the world came crashing back, Roy crawled the rest of the way into consciousness. He was lying on his stomach, on a lumpy cot barely wider than his shoulders. His shirt was gone, and his feet were bare. The pillow under his cheek was scratchy. His left hand was stretched outward, supported on a hard surface. Roy opened his eyes slowly, uncertain, to see a dark figure leaning over his hand, holding something bright. His arm was resting on the seat of a wooden stool. Roy blinked and the brightness became white bandages, glowing in lamplight. He groaned as pressure came to bear on the back of his left hand.

     "You're awake," the figure said. It was a light tenor - not unlike Edward's, Roy thought distantly - in that middle range that could be a low-voiced woman's, or a younger man. The figure leaned closer, and prodded Roy's right shoulder. A shot of pain stabbed down Roy's spine, and he automatically flinched at the touch. "Beam fell on you," the figure said, in a conversational tone. "Amazed we got you out of there."

     "Where..." Roy's throat was hoarse, and he coughed. Smoke in the lungs, he told himself, and perhaps mild burns on his vocal cords. Something metallic rattled in the room, and it took Roy a minute to realize that the sound wasn't his death rattle. The smell of burning wool and wood was trapped in his nostrils, and he shoved the memories away. Now was not the time. He swallowed hard, and tried again. "Where..." He couldn't manage more.

     "In a room, on a bed," the figure said. 

     Great, Roy through, irritated. I end up with a damn comedian playing at nursemaid. The person ran another layer of bandage across his palm and over his knuckles. Roy grimaced. A nursemaid, he amended, with a bedside manner that rivals my own. He imagined he could hear Hughes in the back of his mind, laughing softly.

     "I'm Erin," the person told Roy. "I'm the one who takes care of the folks...here." 

     Erin, Roy thought, grimacing mentally. Still not giving me a clue as to what kind of charm it'll take. He let his eyes slide half-closed; they were still tearing from the remembered sting of smoke and heat. 

     "You have some injuries, but I've taken care of the rest," Erin continued, and Roy gasped inadvertently as Erin tied off the bandage. "Shouldn't be too many scars. Not like it's a worry, but with a face like yours?" The figure chuckled.

     "Fullmetal," Roy choked out. 

     "The kid?" Erin shrugged. "He's fine. Mostly. Some smoke inhalation, and a nasty blow to the head from the same beam that got you in the arm." The figure patted Roy's hand, and he winced as the injury complained. "You might get food later, but I doubt it'll go down your throat. There's water over on the table." Erin leaned over Roy, prodding the bandage on his shoulder again, and Roy caught a glimpse of overalls, and a flat chest.

     Different charm required, Roy noted. Before he could manage words against the pain lancing from his shoulder, the figure was gone. Roy heard a soft tapping, followed by a creak and a whoosh of wood scraping over wood, then a click as a lock fell into place. Roy blinked, and craned his neck to see the door, despite the throbbing pain produced by the move. Grunting, he cautiously levered himself upright.  

     "What the hell are you moving for?" Edward's voice was hoarse, and annoyed. "You're wearing at least two shirts' worth of bandages, if you didn't notice."

     Roy twisted towards the voice, but was halted immediately by the burn on his shoulder. He set his jaw and turned his entire body, shivering as the cool air hit his chest. In the low light, he could see his pants were black with smoke and grime, but intact. There was a bandage around his midriff, and another on his right arm and over his shoulder. He took another slow breath before turning the rest of the way. What he saw made him want to drag Erin back into the room, or anyone else regardless of determinate gender, and demand answers. 

     Edward was sitting against the wall, his knees up in front of him. His arms were stretched out, a long bar cuffed to each wrist. It kept his hands more than shoulder-width apart, and he had situated himself so the bar rested on his shin. Chains led from the cuffs to the wall. Edward noticed Roy's gaze, and shrugged.

     Tighten the jaw, and clench the fist, and the shot of pain helped Roy stifle the urge to fry someone, anyone, for the indignity Edward was suffering. The problem was that Edward was awake, which meant being protective was out of the question. The thought made Roy want to smile wryly, but he managed to keep his expression impassive.

     "At least they didn't take my arm off," Edward was observing. "Hate reattaching automail." He said it in a light tone, and scuffed at the floor with a foot. "Before you ask," and he coughed a few times, then grinned, "no, I don't know. I just woke up, myself."

     "What..." Roy turned on the bed, and carefully propelled himself to his feet. The small of his back, his shoulder, his arm, his hand: each point seemed to throb angrily with every bend of the knee, shift of weight, twitch of his skin against the bandages. It took everything he had to walk smoothly and steadily towards the table, reach down, and pour a cup of water. Lifting the wooden cup, he took measured sips, his gaze traveling across the room as he took note of his surroundings. 

     The room was small, lit mostly by the lamp on the table. One window, high above Roy's head, was covered with a thick drape. A few beams of light snuck past the edges, serving only to heighten the gloom. The single door looked solid, with no cross beams visible, and no door handle. Presumably someone was on the other side, prepared to open it, but Roy doubted it would be opened if he knocked. 

     The water was warm, but he didn't care. Setting the cup down, his left hand hanging uselessly at his side, Roy refilled it from the jug. He turned, pausing to get his breath against the splintering feeling of burnt nerves, and carried the cup to Edward. Gingerly he knelt down and held it out. 

     "Sorry, General," Edward said. He moved a hand, and the chains rattled against the floor. "Thanks for the offer but―"

     "Shut up, Fullmetal," Roy growled, and raised the cup. His knuckles touched Edward's chin. 

     Edward recoiled, his eyes shutting tight for a bare heartbeat. Roy pulled the glass back, momentarily uncertain. Edward frowned, dropping his gaze as he warily opened his mouth. Roy filed the moment away, and raised the cup again. He tilted it against Edward's lower lip, and Edward's mouth opened further, letting the liquid slide in. The young man's throat worked, swallowing as much as possible. Roy tilted the glass further, trying to gauge the angle. When water started pouring from the corners of Edward's mouth, Roy backed off, lowering the cup. 

     "First you try to burn me up, and now you're trying to drown me?" Edward twisted, wiping his mouth against his shoulder, and glared.

     Roy merely arched an eyebrow. "More?"

     Edward grunted, eyeing the cup. His brows came down, and Roy could see the barest nod of Edward's chin, followed by a glitter of eyes under lowered lids. The look clearly said that if Roy ever spoke of the situation, Edward would take it out of Roy's pension, book collection, and probably a few body parts. Roy's amusement gave way to a small tendril of worry, and he lowered the cup when Edward frowned over the top of it. 

     "Enough?" Roy studied the reflection of water inside the cup. Half-empty, he thought. Or half-full. Or it doesn't matter, anyway. 

     "Yeah," Edward said, and wiped his mouth against his black jacket. In the motion of turning his head, Roy could see a garish bruise across Edward's forehead, dappled with the earliest hints of blistering. It wasn't bandaged, and Roy frowned. Edward caught Roy's look, and gave him a baffled expression. "What? Stop staring at me."

     "Just noting the damage," Roy said, and finished off the rest of the water. He set down the cup, and stood up, biting back a groan. He backed up until he was seated on the small cot. "Bruise doesn't look good."

     "Doesn't feel good, either. Got a headache the size of Central's train station," Edward retorted. He jiggled his hands, and glowered at the bar. "I can't reach anything, damn it." He twisted, demonstrating. When one hand neared the wall, the chain on the other hand was taut, and he couldn't do more than press his fingertips against the stone. He couldn't lower his hands to the floor, either, and relaxed his arms with a frustrated sigh. "Looks like someone planned ahead."

     "So it appears. No other injuries?"

     "Uh...don't think so." Edward grunted, and the chains rattled as he shifted. "Gimme that pillow. My ass is falling asleep." 

     "Knew you were getting spoiled with Kavanaugh," Roy grumbled, but pulled the pillow off the cot. "You want me to slide it under you, too?"

     Edward bared his teeth and muttered something under his breath.

     Roy leaned forward, tossing the pillow and trying to cover the grimace from the action. "You need help climbing up on it? I can call for a ladder."

     "Don't bother." Edward caught the corner of the pillow with one hand. The chains rattled as he moved around, sliding his buttocks up along the wall and kicking at the pillow. He settled down with a soft sigh, then scowled at Roy. "Ladder wouldn't fit in here, anyway. Your ego takes up too much room."

     Roy chose to ignore that, along with the strange pleasure creeping into his chest at the return of their jibes. He recalled the way Edward had recoiled from the cup, or perhaps it was his touch. Roy studied the room as he modulated his tone into one of nonchalance. "What do you remember?"

     Edward shrugged, and rubbed one boot against the wooden floor. "We were talking about Cragrock...and I remember being really sleepy. And then a lot of heat, and feeling..." He frowned, turning his face away from Roy's gaze, raising his face to the covered window. A beam of light caught the edge of his face, turning his hair to gold and his lashes to bronze. "...And then I was here."

     "Mm." Roy allowed his normal impassive expression to fall into place, but something still tugged at his mind. Edward recalled more than he'd said, and Roy wasn't sure he wanted to know. Rules of the game, he reminded himself: what isn't said can't break the balance. 

     "I think the hot chocolate was drugged." Edward narrowed his eyes at Roy, as though Roy were somehow responsible.

     Roy smirked. 

     "Bastard," Edward mumbled, and Roy relented.

     "I'd say it probably was," he said. "The cook gave it to me. I told him it was all for me, so I presume you weren't part of the plan."

     "You were the target?" Edward snorted. "There's a twist on the old game."

     "How so?" Roy arched an eyebrow, and tried to settle more comfortably. 

     "I haven't known you for as many years without eventually figuring it out," Edward scoffed. "Throw me to the wolves, and see what gets stirred up."

     "Mixing metaphors, Fullmetal." Roy managed a smirk, even as his mind cleared, the last of the fog pushed away by the startling clarity of the pain threading through his body. "And yes, I'd say you probably attracted enough attention, both in Hyle and here. Mostly when people tripped over you―"

     Edward rattled his chains, his face screwed up in fury, then fell back against the wall with a grunt. One boot kicked at the floor, and he fisted his hands, twisting his wrists in the shackles before dropping his arms with a disgusted cry. "Damn it," he spat out, in a harsh whisper. "Can't you find something to draw with and get these off me?"

     "I'm not going to practice on you," Roy said, coldly, with a touch of anger. "My specialty is atmospheric manipulations, not melting steel."

     "Say what?" Edward snorted. "Oh, sure, give yourself airs. Just melt the damn things!" He shook his fists again, but couldn't hide the wince as the iron chafed against his left wrist. Roy could see dark smears on the cuffs of Edward's gloves, and he frowned. 

     "Fullmetal, stop," Roy admonished quietly. "All you're doing is injuring yourself."

     "Well, at least I'm doing _something_!" Edward lunged forward, but the chains brought him up short. He balanced on the balls of his feet for a second, an awkward crouch, snarling at Roy. "Not just sitting there being all..._comfortable_, damn it!"

     "I am _not_ comfortable," Roy told him, and kept his voice flat. He shoved down the temptation to let his tone sink into an arrogant throatiness that he knew would annoy Edward to no end. Roy sighed, and carefully lifted his left hand, settling it in his lap with a small wince. "I'm thinking."

     "Well, think faster!"

     "Elric," Roy bit out, knowing it would get Edward's attention. "I am not going to torch your cuffs and burn your wrists. I have control, yes, but I'm not a precision instrument. Not to that degree." Edward was silent, watching him guardedly for several seconds, before turning his face away. Roy knew that was about as much defeat as Edward would show. Roy sighed, and twitched the fingers on his left hand, testing the limits of the pain. "I doubt we have long, now that they know I'm awake."

     "Hunh?" Edward looked up at that.

     "Seriously, Fullmetal." Roy sat back a little, and clasped his left hand close. "I shift and control the amount of oxygen, water, and hydrogen molecules in the area around me. I'm of no use to a mining operation...or any other type of factory." He snorted. "Unless they need short, intense bursts of fire, or possibly rain."

     "You can make it rain?" Edward seemed to be momentarily distracted.

     "It's not that hard," Roy replied, smirking. "It's just manipulating something different in the air. But it's a great deal of effort for little payback, and it's not worth the resulting imbalance."

     "Hunh," Edward said, turning his head away again. "So what's your point?"

     "You are," Roy said, his voice low. He refrained from saying more, not sure he wanted to test the theory. If he was the target, then it was not likely he was being held to be used as a weapon. Fire is too powerful, too quick, and too lethal, if done properly. He closed his eyes, ignoring the after-images, sixteen years past. Altogether too lethal, his mind whispered. "You have the ability to shift and change anything and everything around you without the necessity for an array. And you have a particular affinity to steel, I might add."

     "Yeah, so?" Edward paused, frowning at some point in the corner of the room. His mouth fell open, a little bit. He glanced quickly at Roy, the surprise becoming a scowl. "You're saying whomever has us wants me to build things?"

     "When you met Cragrock, did she have any family with her?" Roy kept his tone casual. "Someone who answered the door?" 

     "Not that I could see. She was alone." Edward shrugged, and the bar clinked with the gesture. He twisted, rubbing his nose against his shoulder. "This no-use-of-hands crap is getting on my nerves," he mumbled. "And now that I think of it...she didn't have any pictures of people on the walls or the mantel, either."

     But Victoria Hogan traveled with her husband and daughter, Roy thought, and his gut clenched. God, I'm an idiot, he berated himself. I should've seen that. I should've noticed the one who couldn't be found _should_ have been easy to track, if only because it's harder to slip three people in and out, than it is just one. Edward made an irritated sound, and Roy brought his mind back to the surface topic. "A mechanical alchemist," Roy reminded him. "And now, add in someone who can build the cases for those mechanical systems. Or perhaps they no longer have the Mechanical Alchemist―"

     "―Or are replacing her," Edward finished. He lowered his eyes, and his hands twisted in the cuffs for a moment, before going still. "It's bullshit, Mustang."

     So we're suddenly off-duty, Roy noted. Edward began fidgeting again, and Roy waited, patiently. Eventually Edward stopped, and was quiet for several minutes. Roy turned his head, and in the dim, he could just make out the sight of that thin line between Edward's brows, as the young man contemplated the various clues Roy had handed him.

     Roy wasn't surprised when Edward suddenly gave him a brilliant smile. "I'm not going to be doing anything I don't want to do," he announced, a bit smug, and leaned his head against the wall, tilting his chin up so he could look down his nose at Roy. "The minute these are off, those assholes are history."

     Perhaps, Roy thought. But whomever we're dealing with is assuming that you give a damn about the price you'd pay. Roy wondered if, in this one moment, the rules of the game could be set aside, and the theory spoken. He opened his mouth, noticed Edward watching him closely, and closed his mouth with a quick shake of his head. No, he told himself. Better to let Edward make his own decision...but, Roy added darkly, there's nothing wrong with a little help in the right direction.

     "What?" Edward shifted in place, and stretched his legs out in front of him. It left his arms suspended in front of him, and he made a face before raising his legs again to support the bar. "You've got that _look_ on your face again."

     Roy leaned back, turning carefully to lie down on the cot, his left hand placed carefully across his stomach. A chill was beginning to seep into the room, and he glanced at the window, noting the brightness fading. Sunset, he figured, and groped at the blanket on the bed, pulling it over him with a grunt. The injured shoulder froze up, and he had to breathe through his teeth before he could move again, pulling the blanket over him. 

     "Don't worry about it, Fullmetal," Roy murmured when he was able to speak again. "I'm sure even if you were standing up, it'd all go right over your head."

     "Who's so _short _he needs _stilts_ to see into shop windows?" Edward rattled the bar, his body tensed as he shouted. "You smarmy General, when I get out of these, I'll show―"

     "Eh? I hear squeaking." Roy tilted his head, and gave Edward a lazy smile. "Oh, were you saying something?"

     Edward's face went from its normal shade to flaming red in about two heartbeats, and his glare went from hot to blistering in the same speed. He shot to his feet, was caught up by the chains, and collapsed back down with a yelp. 

     "I see they did plan ahead," Roy observed calmly. "Four inches off the ground. Just about your size."

     "Who's so short you'd need key-chain handcuffs to hold him in place?" Edward's head was back as he screamed, every muscle tensed in fury. "Who're you calling short, you skirt-chasing, lazy-ass, arrogant prick of a goddamn dog of the―"

     "Enough already!" The door was open, and a man stood there, his massive size blocking any view past him. He gave Roy, then Edward, a baffled look. "What the hell is going on in here?"

     "Undo me! Now!" Edward waved his fists at the man, and his braid whipped around as he flailed against the restraints. "Undo me, damn it!"

     The man blinked. "Look, kid, I'm not―"

     Edward pointed at Roy, who smirked. Edward's lips curled in a snarl and he turned to the man in the doorway, stabbing a finger in Roy's direction. "Undo me, so I can punch him in the FACE!" 

     "There's a stool over there," Roy pointed out, waving his left hand just a little. "Stand on it. You might reach my chest, then."

     "GYEEEEEAH!" Edward's shriek was deafening in the small room, and his entire body shook with the effort to get free. The chains rattled loud enough to make Roy's teeth hurt, accompanied by more incoherent cries of rage as Edward continued to rail against the shackles.

     The man in the doorway looked from Roy, to Edward, and back again, then shrugged. "Well, if you're awake, then separate quarters might be the best, after all." He stepped out of the door, and yelled out to someone. "Hey! Franco! Need some come-along!"

     Edward cackled, his attention fixed on Roy. His eyes were narrowed, one tooth caught on his lip. To Roy, it looked remarkably like a little fang, peeking out as Edward strained at the shackles. Edward was chuckling, low in his throat, and Roy sighed, realizing he'd pushed Edward's buttons just a bit too hard.

     The man in the doorway stepped out, and Roy could see another door across the hall. Then a second shadow appeared, even larger than the first. Franco, Roy guessed, and the man stepped into the room, revealing a gap-toothed smile and eyes too small for his pudgy face, framed in a mass of bristly brown hair. For a big guy, he moved quickly and silently, standing over the angry young man before Edward could react. One hand came down, and hit Edward in the back of his head. Edward's head snapped forward, and he slumped, boneless. 

     The first man entered, chuckling. "No one can do that quite like Franco," he boasted to Roy. He rattled a ring of keys, and undid the bolts attaching the chains to the wall. Edward fell forward, and Roy had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from showing any reaction. Franco grabbed Edward by the scruff of his neck, and Edward moaned softly. Franco just shrugged and picked the young man up, throwing Edward, still shackled to the bar, over his shoulder. 

     "And here I thought either he was still out of it, or that you were getting along nicely," the man said, eyeing the wooden cup on the floor. 

     "What are your plans?" Roy stared at the ceiling, seemingly indifferent to the sight of Edward's golden braid flapping against Franco's back as he carried Edward out. 

     "I might tell you," the first man said, grinning. "If you tell me what's it to you."

     "I'm his commanding officer," Roy answered, shrugging with only his left shoulder. "Have you any idea of the amount of paperwork I'll be stuck with, if he dies on the job?"

     "Ah!" The man threw back his head and laughed. "Good point, good point...but I still won't tell you. After all, you never know. He might like _you_, even if it's more than you like _him_." With that, he shut the door behind him, throwing the latch and leaving Roy alone in the room.

     Yeah, Roy sighed. But hopefully, he doesn't. If you're playing the game I think you are, he told the closed door silently, then Edward's going to need all that anger to bolster him to get out on his own. He can come back and raze the place to the ground, later. But he's going to need reinforcements, if the operation is as thorough as I suspect. 

     Go on, Roy whispered silently, urging Edward's anger. Go on and hate me. It'll get you out of here.

* * *

Characters and environment owned by Arakawa Hiromu and Square-Enix. Speculation about the post-series world is completely my own; I've seen only through episode 28 and read only up to chapter 16. 

Many thanks to those reading: **Asami**, **CTT**, **RubyMoon17**, **Wai-Aki**, **Zaz**, **Kalika**, **Tiercel**, **Kiena**, **Sun Singer**, **Elihice**, **Jaelle**, **Maaya**, **Tayles**, **Shukai**, **Lisa Bee**, **Maldoror**, **Merith**, and **Arithion**, and anyone else I might've missed. Thanks for taking the time to drop me a line!

**Brennend**: Actually, no, Roy didn't drink from Ed's mug, though I know the paragraph you're talking about. I went back and edited that, but I was too lazy to re-upload on ff.net. (Sorry.) Actually, Roy reached for his own mug, and Edward was silently demanding that Roy hand Edward's mug over first, and then Roy picked up his own mug again and drank. But, either way, it was all coming out of the same carafe. 

**Eclesis**: Frankly, I prefer dark and involved story lines, but I'm handicapped here because I just don't know where the characters will be, development-wise, at the end of the series. And without really knowing what they've been through, it's hard to push into the depths of the characterizations to bring out a lot of ghosts. Don't worry, as the series continues, if I keep writing, my stories will probably get more complex and dark as I have more to work with.

**Stardancer**: Now you know: backdraft. Always a danger when a fire's deprived of oxygen. This is why you should never EVER open the door to a room where there's a fire. Etc. Roy's off his game - continuing theme - but he's getting back into the swing, now that he has something to occupy him. Ehehe. Don't worry, there's more.

**Gravel**: I don't like to leave stories unfinished. I try really, really hard not to...

**Ginzai**: Yeah, everyone's pretty much figured out by now that there was Something In The Hot Chocolate. Because, y'know, milk is EVIL! EVIL, I tell you! Hehehe. Anyway. Roy wasn't as gone, but still fuzzy enough that it didn't occur to him that Edward falling asleep on him might be reason to suspect and possibly panic, not grab a blanket and go to sleep, himself. Idiot. 


	6. shadow of desire: honored

**6: honored **

_The fox condemns the trap, not himself._  
— William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

Roy stared up at the ceiling, his ears straining for sounds outside the door. The night was long and cold, a draft seeping in through the small window. It seemed almost ironic that he couldn't reach to the window on his own, given how much he'd teased Edward about being short.

But the truth was that he wasn't up to dragging the table out of the way, and then moving the stool under the window to look. Nor was he able, with his injuries, to climb up on the table. Instead, he contemplated what little he knew of the situation, and catalogued the likely ways and means of the situation.

The most bothersome thing was the absence of his watch. He always carried it, to the point that he never gave it much thought, and it wasn't until he'd noticed the silver chain looped in Edward's pocket – as the young man was carried out the evening before – that it dawned on him that his was missing. Roy had sworn in the darkness, frustrated. Unlike Edward's talent, Roy's watch did amplify beyond what he could normally manage. He wasn't helpless without it, but he certainly didn't have quite the endurance without it that he'd have with it. It had taken nearly an hour of berating himself before he'd given up, and set the complaint aside, turning his mind back to the bigger issue of their kidnapping.

One of the two Alchemists missing had a husband and daughter; the other missing Alchemist was safely in Soswell. There were more who had disappeared in more apparent hotspots, but he couldn't recall the names precisely, nor the locations. Too much of his awareness was taken up with gritting his teeth against the pain of the burns on his shoulder and hand. It seemed reasonable that perhaps the Cragrock Alchemists' arrival had been kept quiet, as well, so that any search would stop at Soswell, with the comfortable excuse of paperwork. Roy grunted at that; he wasn't the kind of person to say without further investigation that both must have been missing only on paper, simply because one was safe and sound. But then, the military was notorious for accepting some pretty half-assed explanations if it got officers out of doing more paperwork.

He grinned into the darkness, wondering how often Hawkeye had thought the same of him.

. 

.

* * *

.

.

The opening door heralded the morning, and Roy was instantly awake. He managed to sit up, expecting Erin but surprised to find a young woman, probably no older than Edward. She had chin-length auburn hair that curled neatly behind her ears, and a trim figure despite the bulky militaristic style. Roy caught a glimpse of Franco in the doorway, leering, as the woman brought a tray over to the table. Setting it down with a clatter, she turned, and Roy could see there was a newspaper under her arm. As she walked back to the door, she dropped the newspaper on the foot of the bed.

"Thought you might like a little to read with your breakfast," the woman said, in a throaty voice that would've given Roy a more pleasant kind of shiver, if he weren't busy sitting up while trying to appear perfectly in control. The quick view of the hallway had given him no more information. The woman saluted him lazily. "Until later, General," she said, turning the salute into a quick wave over her shoulder. Franco pulled the door shut behind her, and Roy was alone in the room.

Grimacing, he reached for the newspaper. It was the Central City military news, morning edition of the day before; the day after the fire, Roy decided. It was only the outside page of the newpaper, and he unfolded it. The inside front page was more news of various skirmishes, a few political decisions, and the usual pandering to the latest rumormongering. One headline caught his eye, in bold type.

Soswell fire claims seven.

He skimmed the article, drawing his breath in through his teeth in annoyance. "Due to the high temperature of the fire, the Flame Alchemist was identified through teeth comparison and the discovery of his watch, a badge of his position as a National Alchemist..."

That would explain where his watch went, although he couldn't remember when he might've let it out of his sight. Unfortunately, his memories were patchy at best, and what he could remember, he hoped would eventually fade. Edward's sleepy form, stretched comfortably across the sofa; the jerking, desperate movements of Edward's body as Roy asphyxiated them both, along with the fire; the final, sinking movement of Edward's body, passing out, the golden hair tickling at Roy's nose, the heated skin slick against his jaw. Roy closed his eyes and gathered up the images, locking them away in the secret places in his heart. No matter what Edward might ever say, if he learned of Roy's actions, Roy knew he'd do it again, if that were what it took. After eight years, there was no way he'd stand by, now, and let Edward die because of simple arson.

"Six others also died in the conflagration, which destroyed the top floor of the Military Headquarters in Soswell... Including Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist..." Roy dropped the newspaper with a grunt, disgusted by the simple black-and-white reduction of the nightmarish moments. "An investigation continues into the origin of the fire, including an explosion witnesses report blew out most of the top floor of the military headquarters. Five of the victims were caught in this explosion, although no cause has been identified. Inspector Rainey, the fire chief for Soswell, issued a formal statement saying that his staff are looking into it..."

Convenient, Roy thought. The Flame Alchemist, killed by his own affinity. How many would be willing to believe that he would be the cause of his own death? Certainly any ignorant of how alchemy worked; it wasn't like falling asleep in bed with a lit cigarette. He reviewed the article quickly, unsurprised – and frustrated – to see that the rest of the victims weren't named, pending family permission.

First Lieutenant Havoc wasn't listed, but then, if he had been the one pounding on the door, he was definitely not only dead, but incinerated to a point they'd be lucky to find the melted buttons from his uniform. Roy took a minute, clenching his left hand a little, letting the pain remind him of his own situation. He could mourn Havoc, later, he told himself. In the meantime, he'd continue to hope Havoc had been carousing with a pretty local girl, safe from harm. Roy's gaze wandered from the front inside page to the back inside page, and he had to close his eyes again, breathing steadily, before opening them again.

Obituaries.

Roy stared at his own image. Gracia had taken the photograph on the steps of the Officer's Club, the night they had celebrated his promotion to General. He was in uniform, but smiling at the camera, his head tilted as though he were enjoying a secret. Gracia had called it his tease-face, in the way Hughes might have said, if he'd been alive. Roy stared at the picture, bemused the editors had not selected a more formal image, with the hat on his head, rather than tucked under his arm, with his hair slicked back formally, not quite so messy. Idly he glanced at the article.

Brigadier General Roy Thomas Mustang, died of fire-related injuries in Soswell, at the age of thirty-two.

Roy sighed. Thirty-two years old, and my life fits in five paragraphs.

Graduated with top honors from Central Academy...and Mother never lived to see it, while Father was busy on a hiking trip with Samuel the night Roy was nervously giving his valedictorian speech. Served as a National Alchemist during the Ishvar Civil Conflict...and came home to Cody's anger, and unable – and unwilling – to muster the energy to defend against his little brother's arguments. Youngest Colonel promoted during peacetime...Elizabeth, Samuel's wife, had sent him a card; she'd signed it for both Samuel and herself. Youngest General during peacetime...and his father was too busy helping Cody build a barn to come for the formal announcement, to see the handshake and congratulations from the new Fuehrer. Roy shook his head at the list, and kept reading, more from morbid curiosity than anything else.

Survived by father, Michael Mustang, of Dager, West Amestris, an older brother, Samuel, and his wife, Elizabeth, and their children Sammy, Claire, and Michael... Roy frowned. He hadn't realized the third child was already born; it couldn't have been three months since Elizabeth's hopeful note about the impending birth. She was like that, Roy thought, sadly. She didn't seem to understand that he'd given up years ago; his brothers never had time for him, growing up, preferring to make war on the middle child rather than peace. ...Survived also by a younger brother, Cody Mustang. The baby of the family, Roy thought, fingering the edge of the newspaper. If it was a hoax, it was a damn fine one, since even his cousins were listed: Melissa and Carina, and Carina's husband Darren. On his mother's side, the only relative was his great-uncle, Colonel James Burkholdt, a crotchey old man whose conversations usually consisted of rambling diatribes about the National Alchemists today, compared to the branch in his day.

The final paragraph listed Gracia and Alicia Hughes as close family friends. Roy dropped the newspaper, belatedly remembering the soup. Wincing at his stiff muscles, he got up, stretching as best he could. His skin felt clammy, and he draped the blanket awkwardly over his shoulders before shuffling to the table and sitting down on the stool. The soup was mostly broth, but he doubted his throat could handle much more until it had recovered better from the smoke inhalation. Finishing off the bowl, Roy pushed it away but remained at the table, startled.

It occurred to him that he had spent the previous several minutes pondering solely one simple thing: the utter frustration of having no way to assure Alphonse that Edward was alive, or assure Gracia and Alicia that they were both alive. He had to smile ruefully. It hadn't even occurred to him what his commanding officer might be saying or doing in reaction, or any plans to investigate, or how his staff might be taking the news. And the thought of all those names in his day calendar, of people to see and meet and do: he had yet to spare a single thought for their reaction, let alone wishing he could reassure them. Such a reputation he'd cultivated for years, and when rumors of his death were circulated, the people he worried about were perhaps three of the handful of people that he could honestly say he'd loved.

Of course, Roy pondered, if Edward knew he was included on that list, he'd either disappear in disgust or rail at Roy for treating him like a child, as though only children were loved. Roy crossed his legs and leaned his left shoulder against the table, trying to get comfortable. It wasn't possible, but he didn't want to be laying down the next time the door opened. Just a matter of principle, he reminded himself, absently contemplating just how big an explosion Edward would create if he ever found out that Roy had protected him, outright.

That would certainly clear the building, Roy thought, smirking a little at the mental picture. The smirk faltered, however, and he rolled his eyes at his imagination. Edward's annoyance and self-righteous indignation wouldn't just clear out the building, but take out most of the mountain and half the town. And bury me under all of it, Roy thought. After which, most likely, Edward would dance on the rubble.

There was a part of Roy that ached, just a little, that his assistance was so repugnant that any hint would prompt such a reaction. Roy buried it swiftly, and waited for someone to come back for the bowl. Eventually they would, and while he had no idea what to expect, he hadn't made it this far in life without a few tricks up his sleeve. Most of them involved a smile and quick wit, but playing helpless was charming to some, too. The secret was in knowing which to apply.

* * *

They came for him maybe an hour or two later; Roy wasn't sure. It was enough time to have the entire newspaper memorized, but he'd always been a quick study, so that wasn't the best basis for judging. Franco opened the door, ushering in the same young woman from that morning. She made no attempt to cover the fact that she was giving Roy more than the once-over, from his bare feet, to his smoke-stained pants, to his chest, wrapped only in strips of white bandages. When she raised her eyes to his, he kept his expression level, his chin up, and arched one eyebrow, almost imperceptibly. He wasn't surprised to see her eyes narrow, and the corner of her mouth turned up, just a little. 

He made a note of the young woman's inclination towards a challenge, rather than someone submissively sweet or fearful. He stayed by the table, folding the newspaper lazily, as though they had come at his convenience, not theirs.

"Stand up, General," the girl said. "Franco's way too eager about his come-along skills."

Roy smirked, and stood, his hands at his sides. It took his entire being to keep from crying out when his right arm was pulled backwards, and he ground his teeth together as pain lanced up his left arm when the wrist was yanked backwards as well. The young woman moved deftly, running coarse ropes around his wrists, binding them efficiently. There was enough movement behind Roy, with the slithering sound of rope on rope, that he was certain her knots were intricate. She didn't seem like the kind to do anything halfway, or only for show. He stiffened despite himself when the rope was thrown around his throat, and he was unexpectedly annoyed that she patted him on his injured shoulder as if in remorse.

"Come on, General, we've got places to be," she whispered, and slipped a blindfold over his eyes.

Figures, Roy thought, but kept silent, his ears tuned to the sounds around him. A beefy hand landed on Roy's left shoulder. He wasn't pulled, to his surprise, but led quite gently out the door and down the hallway. Franco warned him, in a deep voice, when they reached a flight of stairs, and Roy counted them. Seventeen steps; at least one floor upward. Forty steps down the hallway, through another doorway, and down ten steps.

He kept his chin up, frustrated by the tightness of the blindfold. He couldn't see under the bottom, and it was pressing hard enough against his eyelids to make him see flashes of false light.

"Almost there," Franco said. "A few steps up...careful, General."

My hands are tied behind my back, wrist to elbow, Roy grumbled, and from there to my neck. What's the point in being careful with me now? The floor changed under Roy's feet from flagstones to wood. He paced himself, walking slowly enough not to exacerbate his injuries, but he was also paying attention. His feet only felt one seam at a time, which meant the beams were wide, but they were also smooth. One foot nearly slipped out from under him, and he amended Ôsmooth' to Ôhigh gloss.' He tried to remember the architecture of what he'd seen in Soswell, and whether there were any buildings large enough to house the distance he'd traveled.

"Creighton," the girl called.

"Kelly," a man's voice chided, curtly. "Next time, don't take so long. Now, that everyone is here, you'll see I'm not...blowing smoke," Creighton added, with a rough laugh that muted slightly after a moment.

Roy guessed the man had turned away, and was speaking to someone else. Fingers were working at the knot on the blindfold. It was slipped off his face, and Roy bit the inside of his lip to force his eyes from blinking rapidly at the light. Everything swam in his vision, and he let it, hoping that he wasn't swaying as he adjusted to the light. Something bright moved in the corner of his eye; a heartbeat passed before the golden glow became Edward Elric's braid. Roy narrowed his eyes, barely glancing in Edward's direction, focusing on the speaker.

Creighton was a heavy-set man, perhaps a half-head taller than Roy; he was lighting several candles on a long table in the center of the large room. Over their heads, high in the vaulted ceiling, were small transoms that barely let in light. They were caked with grime and dirt, and the sunlight that forced its way through seemed tainted as a result.

"Still not interested."

Edward's voice rang out, sounding a little bored, accompanied by a rattling sound. Roy glanced sideways, under his lashes, to see that Edward was still bound. The bar was shackled to wrists spreader wider than shoulder-width. Edward's hands were relaxed, but the fingers on his automail hand twitched. That minute movement was enough to tell Roy that Edward was either irritated or anxious. The cuff of Edward's left glove was stained and torn; Roy guessed Edward had spent some time worrying at it. A chain hung from Edward's right wrist to the floor, but it wasn't attached to anything. It dragged across the floor as Edward stepped away, shrugging.

"You will be." Creighton turned, his thick black beard obscuring the lower half of his face. He grinned, and the gaping maw showed a few broken teeth before the man sobered. "Call Chervaise."

"Cool," Kelly said, and her light footsteps faded away as she left the room.

Roy didn't move or speak, his eyes on Creighton but his senses taking in everything around him. Franco was to Roy's right, not far from Edward, but Edward didn't move or look at either Roy or Franco. Roy forced his shoulders and arms to relax into the bindings. The coarse rope was itching the back of his neck, and it was going to drive him crazy, he was certain. That is, he told himself, if the fat man and his smug attitude don't do it first. Roy's fingers itched to snap.

Chervaise, Roy decided, must have been waiting right outside, because a heavier footstep returned, coming up behind him. A second later Roy's breath was knocked out of his lungs as a foot slammed against the back of his knees. He fell with a thud. He bit his lower lip to keep from crying out as his knees slammed against the wood. The impact reverberated up his body, into his injured shoulder and hand.

Roy raised his chin and got one foot under him. He was halfway to standing when a solid blow hit his right shoulder. He fell again, grunting when the bandages were smashed into the blisters and bruises. Setting his jaw, he turned, to speak over his shoulder. "You could have just asked," he remarked, his voice purposefully sardonic.

Creighton shrugged, and the motion caught Roy's gaze. The man was standing by the table, neatly dropping spent matches into a small bowl. The only warning was a whistle, but Roy knew that sound, and instinctively tensed. A second later, a short whip was laid across his shoulders. The pain nearly made the room go white. In the breath of time between the whip disappearing and the second warning whistle as it sliced the air, Roy shifted his weight, bracing. He spread his legs slightly, and brought his ankles a few inches closer together.

The second strike caught him lower on the back, below his bound arms, and he grunted. Roy swallowed hard, and let his breath out slowly. It was no more, he told himself, than running five miles in the pouring rain, or doing another two hundred repetitions past total exhaustion. Two more strikes, and Roy's skin prickled; something wet was running down his back. The realization that Chervaise could hit well enough to draw blood was making it harder to write off the experience as no worse than what he'd faced as a callow youth of seventeen.

Another part of Roy's mind, however, was preoccupied with the room around him. His gaze didn't waver from Creighton, but Roy could see Edward at the edge of his peripheral vision. Edward's body was tensed, his head turned away from Roy, and his hands were in fists. Franco's expression, Roy noted with some bemusement, was worried. Franco kept giving Roy annoyed glances, as though Franco were hoping Roy would lower his head and the entire unpleasant episode could be ended.

Roy ignored the man, filing the observation away in the same breath with which he ignored the seventh strike, this one catching his left arm and his shoulder blade. The real keys, Roy told himself, were Edward and Creighton. One of the two would call it quits; it was just a matter of which first, and for what reason.

"You guys really need to work on your idea of entertainment," Edward said, but Roy caught the subtle tone of anger and worry. He doubted a stranger would know that hint of a rising note, present only in Ôneed' and Ôidea'. Roy breathed through his mouth, rasping, and listened. "And," Edward continued, "your strategy is transparent. You're assuming I give a damn about him."

"I understand you've been under his command for eight years," Creighton replied. "That's more than enough time to develop some kind of friendship."

"And far more than enough time to know I hate his guts," Edward retorted. He shrugged casually, but Roy caught the slight hitch in Edward's movement when another hit landed on Roy's lower back. Roy bit down on his lip harder, refusing to let sound through his throat. Edward shifted his weight, his hands waving as though dismissing the entire proceeding. "But when the military finds out, they're the ones who will have your ass. Me? I could care less."

"Too bad for him," Creighton said.

Edward doesn't know, Roy realized, and wasn't sure whether to roll his eyes or sigh in frustration. Chervaise's bulk moved away, creaking the floorboards, and Roy accepted the breather with a gratitude he struggled to hide. Creighton held up a folded newspaper in front of Edward's face. The chain clattered when Edward reached up to take the paper, his jaw dropping as his eyes scanned the obituary.

"_That_, boy," Creighton spat, "is one dead General. No one is coming after _him_...or _you_. You, on the other hand, may have checked into little hotels in Hyle and Soswell..." Creighton ripped the newspaper from Edward's hand with a rumbling chortle. "But each time you then made your way to the Officer's Quarters, where you spent the evening with General Mustang. Doesn't sound to me like you really hate his guts, now...does it?"

"Fuck you," Edward ground out. "We had an assignment―"

Creighton flicked his fingers in Roy's direction, and Edward's words broke off as he turned to see. For just a moment, Edward's eyes were wide and frightened, the irises glowing bronze in the dirty sunlight and guttering candles. The floor creaked behind Roy, and he took a breath, looking away from Edward's gaze. He wouldn't shame Edward by letting on that he'd seen the momentary weakness, he told himself, and _that_, some part of him insisted, was the only reason to push hard at the image, and lock it away. The floor creaked again, the whip cleaved the air, and Roy had no more time to think.

Roy swayed from the lash, but caught himself quickly. The stinging pain was dulling into a sick, wet throb. He nearly chuckled at the fact that the thick rope from his bound wrists to his neck was likely to protect his spinal column. Such consideration seemed out of place, as much as Franco warning him about the steps when he was blindfolded.

Creighton wants a breakdown, Roy told himself. If I play that game, Roy calculated quickly, catching his breath between the ninth and tenth strike, then would Edward agree to Creighton's demand, or would he stand firm, and see any begging as so uncharacteristic that it must be a ploy? Between the twelfth and thirteenth strikes, Roy knew a part of him was willing to play along, regardless of Edward's reaction. It would be the only way to find out who was in charge, knowledge they might lose if they managed to get free, too soon.

The next two blows landed across the balls of his feet. No, Roy thought, better not to beg. Not only because it went against every fiber of Roy's being to plead if there was the remote chance of an alternate tactic...but, also, somehow, he didn't want to see Edward's reaction. Roy smirked, not bothering to hide it, but the expression was mostly at himself. He didn't want to learn that Edward _didn't_ care, almost as much as he didn't want to learn that Edward _did_ care. An untenable position, he pointed out to himself, but his heart wasn't listening, and that made his smirk grow wider.

The fifteenth strike whistled louder than the rest, catching Roy off-guard as the whip lashed against his neck and wrapped around to slice into his cheek. The force threw his head sideways, and he shuddered involuntarily.

The room was silent except for the rattling of chains as Edward shifted his weight from one foot to the next.

Edward's movements halted, and Roy didn't raise his head. He didn't want to see Edward's expression. It would be much easier to play at being defeated, and save the strength to fight later, when the odds were more in their favor. And if I keep going, Roy admitted silently, I _will_ break. I won't give up, but... Another strike, across the bottom of his feet again, and he barely bit back the groan. His body jerked, and he had to take a deep breath. Chervaise chuckled lightly behind him, and Roy noticed Edward's shoulders moving.

"All it takes is one word," Creighton said, in a low rumbling voice. "You, boy," and he stabbed a finger in Edward's direction, "do what we ask. And your superior officer will be spared any more of this."

The whip struck five times, in rapid succession: shoulder, shoulder, lower back, lower back, calves. In the screaming silence of the pain that followed, Roy lost the mental track he'd been planning. The pain shoved everything else out of the way. Roy bit down on his lower lip, panting shallowly as it all became clear. Edward would stay behind, purely out of obligation, and Roy couldn't allow that. But Roy couldn't see past the whip-lines scoring his awareness to determine what to do, to say, to get Edward to realize that.

Edward was the only one who might be able to get out. He could come back for Roy and the other Alchemist, and her family. Edward was the only one who'd be able to manage, Roy knew. He just wasn't sure how to let Edward know, and the only coherent thought he could hold onto for longer than two heartbeats was the simplest of all.

God, it fucking _hurts_.

"Enough," Edward grated. His fists were clenched, and his entire body thrummed with the will holding his temper in check. "You can beat him all day, and it won't change my mind. But if you stop now, I might only flay you, instead of ripping you from limb to limb. It's your last chance, Creighton!"

Chervaise raised the whip again; Roy could see the man's shadow across the wooden floor, in the corner of his vision. The whip came down, the whip-end wrapped around his throat. Roy choked, his body's instinctive jerk throwing him away from the whip's tail, onto his left knee. Chervaise yanked, and Roy's weight came down hard on his right knee. The leather slithered against his throat, releasing. Roy sank down on his calves and leaned forward, coughing.

"Stop it!" Edward raised his hands, the bar stretched between the shackles. Edward's compact body was strained, his feet planted wide, boots braced leading in strong lines to calves and thighs up to a chest curved inwards by the effort. Edward snarled. The right wrist-shackle creaked, and Edward chuckled low in his throat, his lips curling up into a pleased smirk. "When I get out of these, I'll―"

The whip whistled, and Roy tensed, but no strike fell. Roy looked up to see Creighton regarding him from only a few feet away, and he made a note that the man could move far more silently and quickly than Roy had guessed. Behind Creighton, Edward's expression was furious, eyes narrowed, teeth bared. Roy lowered his head, breathing through gritted teeth.

"Say please," wheedled Creighton.

"No, thank you," Roy said. To his satisfaction, he even managed to make it sound nonchalant.

Creighton moved away, and Roy closed his eyes, bracing himself for more of Chervaise's attention. His toes curled from a brush of air caressing the cuts across the soles of his feet. Someone was murmuring in the background, and from the pitch, Roy guessed it was Creighton. The sound was broken by a strangled protest – Edward, Roy realized.

Wary, Roy looked up through his bangs, to see Edward's shoulders slump as he nodded. Creighton grinned, clapping Edward on the shoulder, and stepped away. Creighton tucked something back in his pocket, and Roy frowned momentarily, unable to see what it was.

"I'll do it," Edward whispered.

I'm sorry, Roy answered him silently. It's just one more game, one more person manipulating you. He added the numbers to the ones already in his head. Twenty-three blows. Roy spared a second's strength to thank the powers that Alphonse was not along on this mission. Seventeen stair-steps. Then again, Roy thought, if Alphonse were, they'd be out of this by now. Forty-three steps on flagstone. Edward would stop at nothing to protect his little brother, but Roy? Ten wooden stair steps...No, I'm hardly on that list, Roy told himself, and sighed.

"Good," Creighton said. He turned, walking away. This time, there was no warning, the sound covered by Edward's chain's clattering as he shook his fists in helpless fury.

The twenty-fourth strike was on Roy's injured shoulder, the whip's tail wrapping around his arm and slicing through the bandages. He fell forward again, unable to hold up his head. The twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth were on the soles of his feet. Roy slowly lifted his head, and regained his even stare on Creighton, though he didn't come back up on his knees. The man nodded to someone behind Roy, and the whip's warning came loud and quick: three strikes in succession. He was vaguely aware someone was shouting, and Roy blinked several times before pulling his gaze from Creighton's smug face to see Franco restraining Edward.

"Damn you, damn you, stop that! I agreed!" Edward's braid whipped around as he struggled against Franco's hands, hoisting him into the air. His legs flailed wildly as he screamed. "Stop it!"

Two more lashes keened in the air, in rapid succession. The whip curled around Roy's ankle, tugging a little and coming away with a slick sensation of blood. The next blow was on the arches of his feet. Roy groaned through his gritted teeth, but he continued to stare at Creighton from under his lowered lashes. He couldn't hold his head up, his entire will unexpectedly concentrating on letting Edward know, somehow, that Roy was strong enough. He didn't want to give Creighton the satisfaction, but for some inexplicable reason, he didn't want Edward to see him truly break.

The whip paused, and Roy took the chance to raise his head. He stuck out his tongue, running it along the edge of his mouth where blood had pooled from the cut on his cheek. Baring his teeth, he managed a shrug.

"That's it? I had worse in basic training," he observed.

The next whip strike caught him square on his right shoulder, across the burn, and he couldn't hide the flinch. Two more came in rapid succession, both across his feet. Roy closed his eyes, unwilling to allow more reaction than a grunt.

"Mustang, damn you, you're―" Edward's shout echoed through the expansive room. His entire body was shaking, and the chains grated on the floor as he came closer. In a second, Franco was in the way, and Edward glared up at the huge man. "Get out of my way. I'm gonna―"

"Do what? Smack Chervaise over the head with the bar?" Creighton grinned.

"I'll kick him, then," Edward retorted, sidestepping Franco neatly. "I'll―" His cry turned into a frustrated yelp, when Franco stepped behind him, reaching down to grab the bar. He lifted, until Edward was on his toes.

"Shut up, kid," Creighton interrupted. "I'm running the show here. I could beat the General until my arms are tired, and then beat him with Chervaise. You really want to see that?"

"I agreed!" Edward railed against Franco's hold. "There's no need for this. Damn it, stop, or you'll kill him!"

Creighton raised a hand. The whip strike whistled past Roy's ear, but didn't touch him. Roy looked up, wary.

"That's what I thought," Creighton said. He shrugged, and pointed at Roy. "You're not going to break from something so base...but you," and Creighton turned the finger on Edward, "will." He waved the hand at Franco, and smiled cruelly at Edward's stunned expression. "I know your weakness, Fullmetal, even if you would never admit it on your own. You behave, and we won't have to repeat this."

Edward's boots thudded dully on the wooden floor when Franco dropped him. A heartbeat later, someone was hovering over Roy, and he tensed. When hands grabbed him around the waist and lifted, the jarring ripped through the cuts and injuries. Roy bit through his tongue to hold back the scream. The blood's metallic taste surprised him, and he shook off Franco's hold, lifting his chin.

"See, boy," Creighton said, pointing. "I was right. There's only one thing might break the General, but I bet I can figure out what it is."

Edward glared, but Roy couldn't muster the energy to do so as well. Instead, he turned, continuing to bite down on his lower lip to keep from crying out with each painful step. Franco put the blindfold over Roy's eyes before he caught more than a mere glimpse of the doorway. And then, Franco's hand was on Roy's left arm, pulling him forward.

Out the door, turn to the right, and five steps down. The wood was smoother under Roy's feet, and he wondered who would be cleaning up the blood. The slam of heavy doors echoed behind them, and Franco chuckled.

"Look, General, it's just you and me now." The man's voice was surprisingly gentle. "You put up a good show, but if you want a lift the rest of the way, I won't tell no one."

Double negative, Roy thought, but nodded anyway. Franco caught Roy as his legs went out from under him. The grasp of a hand against his right arm made Roy groan, and the rest was lost in darkness.

. 

.

* * *

.

.

Roy came to as he was lowered onto the bed. Grunting, he coughed a few times.

"I'll be back in a bit with your lunch," Franco told him, undoing the blindfold. He dug out a pocket knife from somewhere in his voluminous jeans, and sliced neatly through the bindings. The ropes fell onto the bed, and Franco gathered them up. "Don't go anywhere. Erin's a pretty good cook."

"Sure," Roy managed to choke out, holding himself upright by sheer force of will as Franco left the room. The door clicked shut behind him, and Roy sagged.

It took several minutes before he could gather the strength to lower himself to the floor. Cradling his left hand close, he cautiously laid down on his side, and rolled onto his back. The score-marks and raw spots from the whip and rope were pressed into the cool flagstone, bringing temporary relief, but Roy's eyes were fixed on the underside of the cot.

First, he told himself, wind. Putting his right hand into his mouth, he swirled saliva across the finger, then ran the finger down his cheek, wetting the dried blood into a rudimentary ink. A few quick strokes on the underside of the bed frame, and he had half the circle. Rubbing his cheek a few more times, and he had enough blood to finish the simple array.

The second array, above the first and closer to the bed, was for oxygen. Roy swiped at the blood drying on his cheek and neck, and studied the results of his handiwork. Tentatively he pressed his right hand against the array, pleased when it lit up and he could feel the oxygen being pressed from his lungs. He let his hand drop with a gasp, and coughed a few times.

The third array, at the top of the row, was for fire. He'd need a spark to accompany it, and – he reminded himself, laughing silently – he'd need to make sure he was off the bed, too, or he'd end up part of the tinder. His right arm and shoulder shook with the pain of reaching across to smear the blood on his left shoulder and collarbone, but after several minutes, he'd managed to create the complex array.

He studied the three, satisfied, and rolled over on his stomach. Pushing himself up with his right hand, he grunted, drawing breath through a tight throat before hoisting himself up on all fours. He stared at the bed for a second, and decided against attempting the climb. Instead, he scrambled towards the wall, and settled himself down, turning around to face the door.

Injury might be the order of the day, but there was no way someone was going to get the jump on him, too.

.


	7. shadow of desire: patient

**7: patient **

_The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction.  
_ — William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

Roy opened his eyes when the door opened, but couldn't muster the energy to do more than stare as Franco stepped through the door with a metal bucket. Behind him was Kelly. The woman ignored Roy, setting a tray on the table and removing several items. Roy turned his gaze back to Franco, and was stunned to see Edward appear. He was blindfolded; Erin was guiding him in. There were towels or bedding of some sort, draped over the bar between Edward's wrists, and Roy would have snickered had he the energy. Kelly tucked the tray under her arm and left the room, but Roy paid her no mind.

He watched as Erin removed the linens and placed them on the bed, then took the blindfold off Edward while Franco undid the shackles. The two moved swiftly, and Roy blinked when the door shut, leaving him alone with Edward. He sighed, and dropped his chin.

"Unexpected..." Roy couldn't manage more than that, and coughed. His throat hurt, and the skin on his cheek was tight when he tried to move his jaw. He started to shrug, but the thin scores across his skin complained at that movement, as well. So he closed his eyes, and waited to see what Edward would do, instead.

"Damn it, Mustang," Edward growled from the other side of the room. Several things clattered on the table, then Edward's heavy tread was approaching. Roy could hear sloshing water. Edward's voice, when it came again, was closer than Roy expected. "You are the biggest damn stubborn fuckin' asshole I've ever had the displeasure of seeing whipped," he muttered, but there was a tremulous note in the last word that surprised Roy.

"Admit it," Roy whispered, his eyes still closed. "You'd give years of your life to have been the one with the whip."

There was silence, and the teasing smile faded from Roy's face. He opened his eyes to see Edward kneeling next to Roy's outstretched legs, removing his gloves and tucking them in his jeans pockets. His hands were trembling, and there was a catch in his voice.

"You really think that?"

Roy couldn't think of what to say, so let it pass in silence, and hoped that sufficed as an apology. He shifted against the wall. "Fuck," he muttered.

"So you _are_ human," Edward retorted. He sat back on his heels, and pulled off his black under-coat, throwing it onto the bed. There was a clap, and something sizzled. Edward had heated the water, and steam was drifting off it gently. "You stay there, Mustang."

"Not going much of anywhere," Roy cracked. "I'm not about to pass up the room service."

Edward muttered something rude, and studied Roy's left foot. He glanced up shyly at Roy – as if asking permission, Roy mused – and lifted Roy's foot. Edward placed the ankle gently across his thigh. His left hand sloshed in the water bowl, and Roy had to bite back a surprised cry when Edward pressed a washcloth against the ball of Roy's foot. Edward froze, waiting, and Roy panted for a second before calming.

"Sorry," Edward mumbled.

"Just...warn me next time," Roy told him. He contemplated telling Edward not to bother at all, but something in the tense set of the young man's shoulders suggested Roy would be ignored. "Sure you don't want me to sit on the bed?"

"And get water all over where you'll be sleeping?" Edward shook his head, and continued dabbing at the cuts on Roy's foot. He rinsed the washcloth, his metal hand holding Roy's ankle across Edward's thigh, surprisingly gentle for all Edward's natural and mechanical strength.

You could get rid of the water easily enough, Roy wanted to say, but his throat hurt too much. And if he went so far as to admit the truth to himself, he was having the damnedest time keeping his foot from jerking in Edward's hands. He couldn't help it, though, when Edward's knuckles brushed the arch of his foot.

"What?" Edward looked up. His eyes were wide and anxious.

"Ah..." Roy wondered if he was blushing. "Startled me."

"Startled you..." The golden eyes were suddenly narrow, and Edward cocked an eyebrow. "You mean you're _ticklish_."

Any answer died on Roy's lips when he noticed the mischievous gleam in Edward's eyes. Wasn't it bad enough Edward was washing him off like a helpless child? Roy glared, trying to cover the fear that he'd been squirming to keep from laughing at the sensation.

"Heh," Edward said, and bent back to his work. Roy relaxed once it became obvious that Edward was doing his best to wash the dirt and blood as gently as possible. A minute later, Roy heard another clap, and opened his eyes to see Edward calmly picking up a newly made bundle of wrapping. "This part probably _will_ tickle," Edward warned him.

Roy nodded, bracing himself. His shoulder blades were pressed against the stone wall, and he realized some of the whip-marks were probably going to start bleeding when he pulled away – not to mention leaving a big blood stain where he'd been leaning. Meanwhile, Edward was curled over Roy's foot, twisted sideways in a compact arch, carefully applying some sort of salve to Roy's foot. Edward's fingers, blunt-tipped and strong, pressed in just enough to not be ticklish, but still light enough that it didn't hurt too much. Roy let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and closed his eyes, falling into a drowsy state.

He roused long enough to watch as Edward gently set down one foot, and shifted around, reheating the water before picking up Roy's other foot. Roy wondered what to say – Thank you? Don't bother? Really, I can do it myself? – but pushed it aside. Everything hurt with every breath, countless thin stripes across his back and arms sealed to the stone with dried blood. Roy gritted his teeth, staring at the solid wooden door rather than Edward's attentive expression, fixed on what he was doing.

"Fullmetal..."

"Elric," Edward corrected absently, but without rancor.

Roy rolled his eyes. "Elric. When we're done with my feet, if you―"

"We'll do the rest," Edward replied, but something in his tone put Roy on alert. It was too guarded, too businesslike.

"What aren't you telling me?" Roy opened his eyes wide, wishing he had the strength to reach forward and shake Edward away from wringing out the washcloth. He noted distantly that the water was already tainted pink.

"Havoc," Edward whispered, ducking his head. "They've got Havoc somewhere else, here."

Roy closed his eyes with a sigh, as what he'd seen suddenly made sense. "What did Creighton say?"

"He gave me a choice," Edward said, flatly. "If I said no again, one of you would die. But he'd let me choose." Edward snorted and set down the washcloth, then picked up the jar of salve. "I don't want either of you to die," he added, in an undertone.

"What proof did he show you?"

"Havoc's pictures of his sister. Carries them everywhere," Edward replied. "And after you left, Creighton brought me...one of Havoc's fingers." He capped the jar of salve. "Right ring finger, with his class ring still on it." Edward dug in his pocket, and pulled out a thick gold band. The sapphire glittered in the low light.

Roy stiffened, his blood running cold. "Fuck," he breathed.

"Yeah, that was about my response." Edward put the ring away, his jaw set, and began wrapping bandages around Roy's foot, but halted, looking up at Roy with a furious expression. "Damn it, Mustang, why'd you have to be so stubborn? Couldn't you for once just give way and let them think they'd won?"

Pot, meet kettle, Roy wanted to say. Instead, he returned Edward's look with a level stare. "I considered it. But I doubted you'd do anything but think it was a trap, and it had to convince you, too."

"It would've convinced me," Edward protested, but he didn't say it with a great deal of conviction. "I don't know you that well, sir." His cheeks were flushed, Roy noted, curious, and Edward frowned at him before finishing off the wrapping around Roy's ankles. Edward set the foot gently down on the floor and got up from his cross-legged position. Walking forward on his knees, he knelt by Roy's side, and studied the whip marks on Roy's collarbones. Edward's lip curled, and his look was suddenly quite amused. "Okay, where is it?"

"Where is what?" Roy opened his eyes wide, more than a little uncomfortable that Edward was leaning into him, looking both delighted and somewhat predatory.

"The arrays, you stubborn Alchemist," Edward replied, running one finger down Roy's collarbone. "You're all smeared, and unless you turned cat and tried a tongue bath, I'd bet you've got an array hidden in this room."

Roy couldn't help but grin wryly. "Under the bed. Wind, fire, and one for locking oxygen out of the area."

"Like what you used to―" Edward cut off, and turned away to drag the water closer. When he faced Roy again, he was all business.

"When I what?" Roy stalled, not wanting to see Edward's reaction to the worst of the injuries.

"In the fire," Edward said, wringing out the washcloth. He reached out and caught Roy's jaw, his eyes narrowed. "Stop talking."

He swiped at Roy's cheek, rough at first, but easing up as he continued to clean the wound. His metal fingers were cool against Roy's jaw, and Roy's eyes slowly closed again, fading out. Edward's words called him back, and Roy blinked.

"You keep zoning out," Edward said. He was only inches from Roy's face, pushing Roy's chin up. Roy had to crane his neck a little to see what Edward was doing, and Edward scowled. "Damn it, Mustang...Okay." Edward dropped his hands to his thighs, and sat back, his spine curved in a casual bend, his shoulders relaxed, his stomach pulled in as his gaze flicked across Roy's body. "Do you want me to spread out the blanket so you can lay down, or do you want to sit up?"

"For what?" Roy felt dazed. I'd rather lie down and sleep, he wanted to say, but didn't. "Sit up is fine."

Edward nodded, and leaned over Roy to run his fingers across Roy's shoulder, where the skin met the wall. Roy shivered, but Edward didn't seem to notice. Edward sat back, pushing his braid over his shoulder with an aggravated snort.

"I can pull your legs so you don't put your feet against the floor, or help you by the arm," Edward suggested.

Roy opened his mouth to answer, and shut it with a snap, glaring as he realized. When Edward gave him an innocent look, Roy glared even harder. "Fullmetal, I'm not an invalid."

"You're exhausted and injured. It's a fact, not a shame."

"Still." Roy gave up on the glare when Edward didn't flinch, and waved the fingers of his right hand at Edward. "Whichever. I don't know."

"Arm, then," Edward said. Rather than get up and go around Roy's legs, however, he just came up to a crouch, stepping over Roy's thighs and settling down by Roy's left side. Getting his hands around Roy's left arm, Edward waited for a moment. "When you're ready," he said.

Roy nodded, and with a grunt, pushed away from the wall. Crab-walking awkwardly, Edward assisted him until Roy was several feet away from the wall. Edward stayed where he was, his hands on Roy's arm, as Roy got his balance.

"Where'd you learn..." Roy glanced down at Edward's hands – the tanned flesh one, the silvery metal one – but Edward didn't loosen his hold.

"Alphonse," Edward said, one hand sliding from Roy's arm to snag the water bucket and pull it closer. He moved around behind Roy, one hand constantly on Roy, gently, just the fingertips, as though steadying Roy, or perhaps reassuring him that Edward was close by. "When he first came back," Edward continued, "his body was new and _holy fucking shit_."

"Hunh?" Roy frowned. He started to twist to see, but doing so hurt too much. Edward's hand on his side, he realized, was trembling, and he could hear a soft exhalation, as though Edward were shocked. "Full― Elric?"

"Damn it," Edward murmured. "I'm going to enjoy disemboweling that bastard."

"It's not―"

"Don't even say it." The water sloshed noisily, but the washcloth's touch on Roy's shoulder was light, almost hesitant. The water stung, and Roy's skin shivered again.

"You didn't let me finish," Roy protested.

"I've got a good idea." Edward's left hand pressed against Roy's head, insistent but cautious. "Lean forward so I can see just how bad it is." He was silent for several seconds, the washcloth unmoving against Roy's skin. Roy shifted, and Edward hissed.

"What?" Roy was starting to get irritated. Being treated like a child, he grumbled. I can―

"You couldn't clean this up yourself," Edward interrupted his thoughts. "And I do know you well enough to know that's what you're thinking." He was quiet again, the washcloth beginning to move in small circles across Roy's shoulders. When he spoke again, his tone was subdued, and hesitant. "Would you...if it were Hughes here, would you have been so..."

"Maes," Roy whispered, and closed his eyes. He knew the answer, and knew the one word was answer enough for Edward, too. He sighed, focusing on his breathing, trying to ignore the stinging while Edward carefully washed each whip-score. He had no idea how long it took, but every now and then Edward would mutter something inaudible, and Roy hid his smile, amazed he could be so amused despite the wish to demand Franco come knock him out. It would save him the agony of feeling the warm water running down his back, catching in the grooves sliced across his skin.

That was the reason, Roy assured himself, and not because he felt jumpy, off-balance, with Edward speaking so casually to him, moving and touching and helping as though this were a perfectly normal thing to do. It's because of his experiences with Alphonse, Roy decided, but wasn't sure whether that knowledge helped. He told himself that was the only reason Edward's touch was so careful, yet so deft. It didn't make him feel any better.

. 

* * *

.

.

"Mustang," Edward whispered, his breath stirring the hairs across Roy's ear. Roy shook himself mentally, and hummed sleepily. Edward chuckled, a little, and Roy frowned. "I'm...I..." He huffed for a moment, and then spoke more forcefully. "Undo your pants."

"Un― what?" Roy sat up straight, and pain shot through his back and shoulders.

"The blood's run down...and there are cuts that went down across your hips," Edward explained patiently. "Look, do you want me to remind you that whatever you've got, I've seen? Alphonse and I are both guys, too―"

"Can it, Fullmetal." Roy slowly moved his right hand, picking at the buttons on his pants with awkward fingers. Leaning forward, he gritted his teeth as Edward gently tugged the pants and boxers down to below Roy's hips, washing the remainder of the blood.

"Your pants protected your skin, but there'll be some bruising, I think," Edward said. The warm fingers of his left hand ran up Roy's side to Roy's left shoulder, pressing Roy forward. "Lean over as best you can. I'm going to start applying the salve. Then I'll bandage and we can eat."

"No food," Roy mumbled. He felt queasy, tilting forward at such an angle.

"You have to eat, Mustang," Edward retorted, but amiably. His slick fingers ran in long strokes, back and forth across Roy's back, following the whip lines. It prickled, and Roy lowered his head, his muscles straining from the awkward position.

Edward was silent, then, working efficiently from Roy's neck and shoulders, down his back, to the bruises across his hips. A rustle of cloth warned Roy, and Edward silently guided him back up to a sitting position. Roy didn't get warning, however, when Edward hugged him from behind, until he realized Edward was passing the bandage around Roy's chest. Roy tensed, though, when Edward did it again, although he noticed the young man seemed to be vigilant about not leaning into Roy's back.

Roy kept his breathing even, his eyes focused on the far wall as Edward's movements lulled him back a stupor. The shift and drape, the hands brushing his chest as Edward fumbled for the bandage, passing it from one hand to the other; Roy struggled to consider Creighton's intentions and what Roy could do. It was preferable to noticing Edward's soft breath against his ear each time Edward leaned forward to wrap another layer of bandage around his chest.

When Edward began wrapping Roy's shoulder and right arm, hissing in annoyance at the whip-scores slicing through the burns and bruises, Roy was almost disappointed that Edward was done. It had been good, he admitted, privately, to have someone doing something like that for him. And having admitted that he liked it, Roy promptly squashed the awareness down into that secret box where he kept all his other hopes and wishes. Letting people close just didn't work in the light of day, he'd learned through long experience. And the rare chance to be taken care of – perhaps even be protected, he realized – was something that would end the minute Edward stood up.

"Done," Edward said. "I just want to look at your left hand, now."

"That, I can―"

"Mustang," Edward growled, and Roy wasn't sure whether to roll his eyes or glare. He settled for grunting in annoyance while Edward unwrapped his left hand, whistled, and gently rubbed salve across the burns. Roy's hand jerked in Edward's grasp, and Roy gave Edward a wry look.

"Hurts like a son of a bitch," Roy whispered.

Edward surprised him by chuckling. "Yep, you are human in there, _somewhere_. This is from having your hand out against the array?"

Roy gave Edward a long, intent look. "How much do you remember?"

"An explosion, and then..." Edward shrugged, and bent his head over Roy's hand. His golden hair fell down, masking his features as he wrapped the hand, from second knuckle to wrist, quickly and efficiently. "I remember seeing an array on the wall. Figured that must've been you..."

"Yeah," Roy said. Edward lowered Roy's hand onto Edward's knee, still regarding the bandages with a thoughtful eye as he tied off the linen around Roy's wrist. Roy could feel the ridges of the metal plates of Edward's knee, padded by the bandages against his palm. "But I wasn't counting on people bursting in through the door."

"Wouldn't that be good?"

"No. Floods the room with oxygen. If the fire's still smoldering, it will explode." Roy sighed, and allowed a rueful smile to appear momentarily. "Which, coincidentally, is exactly what happened."

"So you're actually a three-trick pony," Edward observed dryly. He put a hand on Roy's left elbow. "Up on the bed, now. How much help― no, scratch that. I'll lift you up, and then just lean sideways and I'll guide you onto the bed."

"I don't get a choice this time?" Roy snorted.

"Al didn't give me half as much grief, so...no, you don't." Edward slanted a sideways grin at Roy, and hoisted him upwards. Roy flinched as his feet took his weight, but Edward maneuvered him quickly onto the bed. Roy started to roll over on his stomach, but Edward stopped him. "Food, first."

"Not hungry," Roy gasped, trying to cover the fact that his right hand was clenched against the blanket. He struggled to catch his breath from the lancing pain in his feet and back.

"You're skin and bones, General," Edward retorted, but he sounded altogether too informal, despite the title. He stood up, brushing off the seat of his jeans, and headed to the table. A quick clap behind Roy told him Edward had probably reheated the soup, and a second later the bed creaked as Edward sat down next to him, bowl and spoon in hand.

"I bet Alphonse was just peaches and light," Roy grumbled, eyeing the bowl. His left hand was in his lap, and his right arm was throbbing just from the move from the floor to the low bed.

"Not really," Edward said, his face lowered as he stirred the soup. "Are you going to be able to..." He held up the spoon.

Roy frowned, and sighed, taking the spoon. "Yes, but..."

"I'll hold the bowl," Edward offered, and Roy considered that for a moment before nodding.

It's no worse than having him wipe blood off nearly half my body, Roy reminded himself. He leaned forward, spooning the soup, slurping a little out of nervousness at how close Edward was, head cocked as he watched intently. Roy paused, glaring, and Edward arched an eyebrow.

"The second I see that hand waver," Edward informed him, "I'm spoon-feeding you."

It was Roy's turn to growl, but Edward only gave him a flat stare.

"I'm not that bad off," Roy complained. "I don't see why you're treating me like this."

"Mustang, there's a blood mark on that wall that's larger than me," Edward replied, eagle eyes watching as Roy took another spoonful of the broth. "You want me to start with that, and work backwards through your injuries? You're hurt. Just accept the help gracefully for once, would you?"

"I've accepted help, before," Roy told him, frowning.

"Once? Twice? I'm surprised the occasions weren't marked as national holidays." Edward stared at Roy's hand, suspiciously.

"Stop that, Elric." Roy waved the empty spoon, before stirring the bowl again. He knew there was another meaning to his words, and Edward's slanted glance down at the bowl, and past it to gaze at Roy's bandaged chest, told Roy that Edward caught the underlying meanings, as well. Roy sighed, and took another spoonful. "What kind of work do they want you to do?"

"I'll tell you on one condition."

Roy raised his eyebrows, and licked the spoon clean before lowering it to the bowl again. "And," he prompted.

"I'm not stupid, Mustang," Edward said, but his cheeks were tinted lightly pink, as if embarrassed or perhaps annoyed. "You spent a lot of the time I worked for you, gaining points off what I did. But you did a lot of things that got you nothing."

"Equivalent trade," Roy quipped, but his voice sounded flat in his ears. The room felt stifling, and he frowned at the bowl, cradled in Edward's hands, so close to Roy's chin.

"That excuse worked when I was fifteen," Edward murmured. "Protecting us...you took risks on which you never received a return."

Roy could feel himself leaning away from Edward, sensing the unspoken question hanging in the air between them. He stared at the dark brown liquid, stirring it up and watching the color shift to golden as the broth was mixed, then fade as it separated.

"I got a return on every investment," Roy told Edward, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. "You're here, and not on some train heading back to Kavanaugh, after all. Or perhaps my life isn't a big enough return." He twisted the words, making them light, but something in his gut ached, although he knew the whip hadn't reached that far inside him. Roy ignored it, even as he recognized he had gotten pretty good at ignoring things, in his life.

"Like I was saying," Edward whispered, his eyes following the spoon's path from bowl to mouth, "sometimes equivalent trade isn't true."

"It is true, and it defines everything in our world," Roy answered. "You just get aggravated when you can't see clearly the terms of the deal."

"You still haven't answered the question," Edward replied softly.

Roy paused, spoon at his lips, and met Edward's eyes. The young man's golden irises were swallowed by the dark of his pupil in the low light, but Edward's expression was puzzled, curious, perhaps even a little hurt. Roy swallowed the last spoonful of broth, and dropped the spoon in the bowl.

"I presume there's another bowl for you," Roy said, pointedly. He glanced towards the table, flinching at the pain from the bruises around his neck.

"Yeah. I get stew. There's also some water, if you want it," Edward replied, lowering the bowl to the floor by his feet. He picked up the jar of salve and set it in his lap, screwing the top off with a quick motion. "One last thing."

"What?" Roy frowned, looking down, and the next thing he knew, Edward's hand was in front of Roy's face. It hovered there, uncertain, at an odd angle for Edward's left hand to reach Roy's right cheek, and then it was stroking the cut across Roy's cheek. The fingers followed the line of the slash, and Roy had to close his eyes, unable to risk Edward seeing the truth of his thoughts.

I like this feeling, Roy whispered to himself, uncertainly. I like that he's grown, that he's no longer a boy...that he doesn't see me as a Brigadier General or the notorious Flame Alchemist. Roy realized Edward's fingers were still stroking the cut, and he opened his eyes just enough to see Edward's face, unmasked and vulnerable, misery shining through in every line as Edward stared at the wound. Roy let his eyelids fall closed again, feeling the misery echo in his own heart, beating against the wall of his independent pride.

"We are a great deal alike," Roy murmured, half to himself.

"Time was, I'd kill someone who suggested that," Edward said, but he dropped his hand, closing the jar tightly. He stood up. "Lay down on your stomach. You should get some rest, if you're going to recover."

"You still didn't tell me what Creighton―"

"We're even, then, Ôcause you didn't answer my question, either. Now, lie down, Mustang. If I have to redo any of those bandages, you're getting salt, not salve."

"I'll fry you if you try," Roy snapped. "I'm fine like..." Everything faded, and Roy shook himself, opening his eyes to see Edward's face only inches from his. The young man was grinning like a maniac, and it took Roy several heartbeats before he schooled his face into a scowl. "Fullmetal," he said, in a warning tone.

A hand on his shoulder and a low, evil chuckle were his only answer. Roy yawned, taking refuge in the sudden sleepiness to lie down, unresisting, as Edward raised Roy's legs onto the bed and shifted him about as easily as though he were half Edward's size. Too much experience with Alphonse, Roy thought, only marginally irritated with it. It was when Edward turned Roy's head so his injured cheek faced up, that Roy thought to protest.

"The broth," he mumbled, his eyes closing. Cloth brushed his arms, and he realized Edward was pulling the blanket over him. "Edward..."

"Shut up, Mustang," Edward admonished. "Even you wouldn't fall for hot chocolate a second time."

"You drugged me?" Roy tried to sit up, annoyed. "Now is the last time I want―" but a cool metal palm on his left shoulder gently pushed him down again. Then two hands took his right hand, holding it gently and curving his arm to press against the underside of the bed.

"This is the one for..." Edward moved about, not letting go of Roy's hand, and Roy opened heavy-lidded eyes to see Edward lying on the floor, peering under the bed. "Wind," Edward said, satisfied, and pressed Roy's hand against it. "And this...is air. And this is fire."

"No spark," Roy sighed.

"You remember where each is?"

Roy nodded into the pillow. Edward's voice sounded quite far away. There was a resounding clap, and light flared against Roy's eyelids. Then Edward was taking his hand again, rubbing Roy's index finger against something protruding from the bed frame.

"Flint," Edward explained. "There's your spark. Got all that, or do you need sign posts?"

"Fullmetal," Roy growled, as best he could manage, but it sounded more like a purr, he thought, sleepily amused. "Damn you for..." His voice trailed off, and he yawned, not quite sure what he'd been about to say. His entire body felt heavy, but the aches were fading into a blissful absence.

"Mustang, shut up already," Edward assured him. He sounded amused, and Roy managed a half-hearted scowl. "You need to be rest and let the medicine do its job."

His voice moved away, his words reduced to a mumble, only the tone indicating a certain rude informality Edward had rarely shown in the past except when truly angry. But Edward's words, filtering into Roy's sluggish mind, didn't make a great deal of sense.

"...What pisses me off the most is that..." The words were muttered, barely audible over the sounds of sloshing water. Wood scraped against stone; perhaps Edward was moving the stool closer to the table. "...But no, not Roy Mustang..."

Roy wondered what Edward meant, noting only the aggrieved tone. Roy was certain he'd been about to say something else to Edward, but sleep was too near and Edward too far away.

.

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* * *

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.

Roy was dreaming.

Crimson filled his dreams, sometimes, not a nightmare, but an overwhelming presence. Perhaps blood, perhaps fire, perhaps urgency, but his body was sluggish and his mind was dull. The scratchy fabric of the pillow against his cheek merged into the dream as a wool-dressed shoulder under his chin; the shift and curl of the blanket against his arm was the comforting grasp of a rare accepted touch.

Fingers stroked his forehead and through his hair, and Roy sighed, unwilling to open his eyes, clinging to the dream's affection. He instinctively turned into the touch, hoping for more, and the fingers were still for a moment. The dream hesitated, despite Roy's longing, and then the hand shifted to scratch lightly behind his ears. Roy knew by that single touch the truth of the illusion but welcoming it regardless. It was better than the emptiness. Dreamscape images danced in his mind, flickering, the touch too familiar, yet unknown.

"Edward," he whispered, in the dream, or perhaps out loud. It was one and the same, to him.

The fingers stilled again, the touch lightening. Loss struck Roy as surely as the moment he'd known, years before. The illusion was incomplete.

"Maes," Roy breathed, uncertain, hoping...

The hand was close, its warmth a tangible presence, and Roy's chest ached with longing. Then the fingers descended again, stroking gently, running through the thick strands of Roy's hair.

"Shh, sleep," someone replied.

Roy smiled at his old friend's voice, and continued to dream.

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> * * *

I usually do disclaimers and whatnot, and notes to readers. But I've discovered since switching over to a Mac that the html files created on a Mac don't upload to fanfiction.net. Well, they do - as a SINGLE CHARACTER. So I give up. I won't be posting updates on ff.net as regularly (if at all). If you go to my author's profile, you'll be able to find the archive URL for Scimitar Smile, and that's where you'll find the rest of the chapters. Sorry if this is leaving anyone in the lurch, but even the otherwise easy interface with ff.net isn't worth this aggravation of trying to deal with Mac html coding and WS html coding. You'd think they'd be the same, but apparently not. Go figure. 


	8. shadow of desire: guarded

**8: guarded **

_He who has suffer'd you to impose on him knows you.  
_ — William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

Roy woke up, his eyes squinting shut at first before he levered himself carefully off the bed and sat up. He wasn't sure what had woken him, but for all his reputed laziness, he was a light sleeper, so it could have been anything, nothing, or just instinct. He blinked, and gingerly rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and didn't bother to hide his smile.

Edward was asleep on a second small cot that had been squeezed up against the wall, leaving barely two feet between the beds. He was on his back, one leg bent, the other leg hanging off the edge. His human arm was behind his head, and his automail arm was also hanging off the bed. A blanket covered his hips and chest, but it looked like he'd kicked the rest of it off in sleep. His chest was bare, but Roy could see a thin strip of white at the edge of the blanket, caught on Edward's hips: Edward's boxers. His braid was half-undone, tangled hairs matted against his cheeks, a few strands stirring with each soft, deep breath.

Over the years, Roy had seen Edward's automail a few times, mostly when Edward chose to discard the black overcoat and wear only his tank top. It had been one of the signs, to Roy, that Edward's sense of propriety was yet another thing that ran by Edward's standards, and no one else's. The young man would strip down to bare chest when he judged it necessary, but the rest of the time he was clothed from neck to toe.

Never any in-between, Roy mused. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and let his eyes slide half-closed to cover the direction of his gaze. He wasn't sure how lightly Edward slept, but judging from the even breathing and still body, Edward was in deep sleep. Still, better not to risk letting Edward be wise to Roy's curiosity.

Another weakness, Roy told himself, and sighed. His gaze trailed up Edward's crooked leg, from the automail toes digging into the rumpled sheet, the casing and cords barely visible at the back of the knee, to the juncture of metal and skin. The fact of Edward's automail leg had always been known; it was the mechanism of it, the meeting of steel and flesh that had intrigued Roy. Some might say that automail users were more machine than human, but it seemed to Roy that if that were so, Edward had become more than human to compensate. On the face of things, the Fullmetal Alchemist was calculating, even reticent, and set on his own path with little interest or patience for distractions. But under the steel exterior, he was a fireball of thoughts, plans, dreams, and ideas.

We are a lot alike, Roy thought, and carefully stood up. The morning was chilly, and he dragged his blanket around his shoulders. Except, he decided, for the fact that he was freezing and Edward was clearly comfortable.

It was then that the door opened. Franco leaned into the room, glanced at them both, and stepped out of the way for Erin to enter. In the dusky morning half-light through the blocked window, Roy was almost certain Erin was a young man, perhaps a few years older than Edward. He was wearing overalls again, and had auburn hair pulled into a low ponytail at the base of his neck. Erin nodded at Roy, and set a tray down on the table.

"Hope you brought enough for three," Edward said behind them. His voice was a little thick, but otherwise he sounded as short-tempered as usual. Light footsteps, one echoing, one soft, crossed the room and came to stand next to Roy. "I'm famished." He thumbed his hand in Roy's direction. "And I need more salve, for his back."

Roy frowned. Edward pointedly ignored him, and Roy realized Ed was already dressed in his black jeans. He was buckling the belt, and walked past Erin to poke at the food on the tray. Erin crossed his arms and waited, while Edward picked out two rolls and an apple. Edward bit into the roll, and turned around, leaning his hips against the table in a casually aggressive stance. Sharp white teeth tore at the bread, and Edward's golden eyes flicked from Roy to Erin, and over to Franco in the doorway.

"So?" Edward finished off the first roll and began on the second. "What's the agenda for today? Hot pokers? Boiling oil?"

Roy hid his smirk and moved to the table. Leaning past Edward, he grabbed the last roll before Edward took it, too.

"Your agenda," Franco said from the doorway, "is to come with me. Bring your food with you, and you can eat it later." He held up a blindfold and the bar. The shackles clattered against the metal rod.

"One minute, and I'll be ready," Edward replied, as though this were all part of his everyday life, and nothing to blink at. He brushed Roy with his shoulder as he pushed away from the table.

Roy covered his surprise at the apparent clumsiness by glaring at the roll, and then at Erin, who shook his head minutely. Behind them, the metal clanked and Edward muttered something. A moment later, the door shut and Roy was alone with Erin. Roy studied the younger man: the wide green eyes, the nose with just a slight crook in it, like a semi-healed break.

"In case you're wondering," Erin said, quietly, "It was my suggestion."

"Mm?" Roy raised his eyebrows over the roll, biting into it.

"Mr. Elric's agreement was the only reason I put the sleeping medicine in, though. If he'd said no, I doubt Creighton would have allowed it." Erin picked up a jar on the tray, and unscrewed the top, setting both aside, then picked up a roll of fresh bandages. "I'm just here to keep people healthy, and you're one of the people here. I don't play favorites when it comes to that." He motioned to Roy, who obligingly sat down on the bed, turning away from Erin.

"And First Lieutenant Havoc?" Roy took another bite from the roll, finishing it off, and steadfastly ignored the uneven lightness of Erin's fingers, prying off the bandages. Edward's touch, in contrast, had been firm and sure, as though Edward had known exactly how much pressure Roy could take at any juncture. The contrast unsettled Roy, so he chose to ignore it for the time being. "Are you seeing to his well-being, too?"

The fingers hesitated for a split second, then continued moving. "He's being taken care of, but not by me."

Roy considered that, filing the response away. "Why did Fullmetal sleep here? I thought he would be assigned to a cell of his own."

"You're not used to the way Creighton thinks," Erin replied, and began smoothing salve across Roy's back. "He doesn't believe in killing people, but he's..."

A manipulative bastard, Roy finished, and snorted quietly. Yeah, he thought, I know the type. Creighton's going to encourage our interaction, in hopes that the more Edward sees me, the less likely he'll be to risk my safety again. The thought made Roy's stomach churn, and he suddenly wished he'd let Edward have all the rolls, after all.

"And First Lieutenant Havoc?"

"I don't know." Erin unrolled the bandages and began wrapping them around Roy's chest. Again, the brush of a hand against his collarbones, but Roy felt uneasy, not comforted. Erin finished quickly, to Roy's relief, and stood up, gathering the unused bandages in his arms. "You should sleep. The salve has some numbing properties, but don't let that fool you into thinking your body wasn't injured."

I know, Roy responded mentally. I got the whole lecture last night, so you can save your breath. He settled for arching an eyebrow, and was pleased to see Erin take a half step back.

"I can get you some books to read," Erin told him, backing towards the door. "No newspapers, and nothing on Alchemy, but at least it will keep you from being too bored."

"Please," Roy managed to say, the mild tingling in his back and shoulder melting into mere weariness. "Books would be nice."

Erin nodded, tapping on the door. A minute later, Kelly opened it, and Erin was gone without another word.

. 

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* * *

. 

.

Roy woke up a few hours later, to find Kelly unlocking the door. She strolled in, a stack of books in her arms, and dropped them on the table. She grinned at Roy, a devilish look that promised no good, and left the room.

He sighed and got up, relieved he was alone and no one could see how awkward he really was. Getting up from lying on his stomach, with one aching shoulder and the opposite hand useless, was no mean feat. And although he'd managed to eat the breakfast Erin had brought, still a bit suspicious, he knew he hadn't been drugged. He'd fallen asleep simply because his body was too busy trying to recover to have extra energy for him to move about a great deal.

Roy shuffled to the table, the blanket clutched tightly at his chest, and stared down at the stack of books. He snorted, hefting the book of stories for boys, and set it aside. The second book was a treatise on agricultural methods, and Roy paused before setting it aside as well. The third was a textbook for repairing farm equipment, and the fourth was on biological adaptations for plants. Roy raised his eyebrows at the stack; clearly someone was a farmer.

Well, he thought, it's been a few years since I've paid attention to the seasons. Deciding a trip into memories might not be as bad, now that he had age and distance – and failing to find any interest in short stories with horrendous platitudes concluding each – he picked up the book on agricultural methods, and made his way back to the bed.

. 

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* * *

. 

.

The light through the little window was growing dim when dinner arrived, with a blindfolded Edward in tow. Roy had hung the lamp on the hook Edward had transmuted, and it was the perfect height to shine over his shoulder while he read. He'd sat up, preferring to keep his face towards the door, and propped his pillow behind him for a cushion. He glanced up from the book, a finger to keep his place between the pages, and watched silently as Kelly set down a tray while Franco removed the shackles and blindfold from Edward. It only took a minute, and the two were gone.

Edward didn't say anything for a long moment after the door shut behind him, his face lowered, and then he turned, stumbling towards the second cot. Landing heavily on it, face down, he was still for a moment. Roy waited, but Edward only sighed, and toed his boots off, twisting in place to face the wall. Gradually he curled up into a ball, and soon the soft sounds of his breathing evened into an exhausted sleep.

Roy frowned, more than a little worried, and looked over at the tray. Pondering the situation, he carefully turned down the edge of the page and set the book aside. Getting up was easier when he was sitting up already, and he decided to leave the blanket on the bed, rather than juggle too much at once.

Perusing the dinner, he picked up a bowl of soup and a spoon. He tucked the two rolls into the crook of his arm, and slowly made his way over to Edward's cot. Setting everything down on the floor as quietly as possible, he then brought the stool over, and settled down.

"Fullmetal," Roy whispered. "Wake up, eat something, and then you can sleep."

An unintelligible moan came from the figure on the bed, and Roy sighed.

"Come on, Fullmetal, if you don't eat..." Roy knew he was wheedling, but didn't care. He wasn't up to badgering Edward, but if the young man had spent all day doing alchemical transmutations, even Edward would be wiped out. He was strong, but even Edward would eventually be worn down if he didn't eat. "...Just eat, then you can sleep."

"Shut up, I'm not hungry," Edward muttered, and curled up tighter.

"Fullmetal," Roy said, a little louder. "I'm not Alphonse."

Edward growled, and his head shifted on the pillow, but then he exhaled deeply and rolled over to face Roy. "Not hungry," he said, his eyes heavy-lidded. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his mouth was a thin line. "Leave it. I'll eat later."

"Now," Roy corrected. "It's right here." He leaned over, lifting the bowl until it was level with Edward's nose. "You need to eat."

Edward sniffed, his nose wrinkled, and he sniffed again. The eyes opened a little wider, seeing the spoon.

"If you don't, I'll spoon feed you," Roy said, flatly.

"Do that, and I'll kick your ass." Edward yawned, closed his eyes, and snuggled farther into the small cot.

"I'd like to see you try." Roy modulated his voice from the calm tone he'd adopted, into something a bit more suitable for parade grounds and underling officers. "Fullmetal, get up, and eat, _now_."

Edward scowled, then opened his eyes a slit. He stared at the bowl for a long moment, then sat up with a groan. Roy handed him the bowl and the spoon, and dropped both rolls into Edward's lap.

"You're not going to sit there and watch me eat, are you?" Edward hunched over the bowl, stirring it absently as he gave Roy a baleful look.

"Why not? You did it to me, last night," Roy pointed out.

"Damn it, Mustang," Edward said, and thrust the bowl at him. "Stay there. You shouldn't be walking." Edward got up, stalking off and returning a minute later with the second bowl and spoon. Settling down on the cot, he pointed at the bowl in Roy's hands. "You eat, too."

Roy opened his mouth to retort, then closed it with a snap. Deciding to try a different tactic, Roy gave Edward a small smile, and bent his head over his bowl. A second later, something landed in his lap.

"You get bread, too," Edward said, glaring.

"I don't¯"

"I've had a long day," Edward practically snarled. "Don't argue with me or I'll transmute you into a coat rack."

Roy blinked, and nodded, hiding his smile behind the spoon. He was tempted to make a comment that he'd be too tall as a coat rack to be of any use to Edward, unless Edward were going to transmute the bed into a step-stool, but Roy decided not to push it. It was more important to find out what Edward had seen, heard, and done, and he wasn't going to get that information if Edward were too busy spitting nails.

The soup was thick, almost a stew, and a little spicy, but excellent. Roy finished at the same time as Edward, startled when Edward reached for his empty bowl without comment, and carried everything to the table. He returned with the two cups and the jug of water, and stood over Roy with an irritated expression.

"Get back in bed, and lie down. You're putting weight on your feet," and he emphasized by nudging his bare metal foot against Roy's bandaged ankle. "I'm not redoing those bandages again if you mess them up."

"Stop acting like you're¯" _Maes_. Roy's mouth snapped shut, for a heartbeat, before he finished. "¯Captain Hawkeye."

Edward's eyes narrowed, but he shrugged, and jerked his head towards Roy's cot. Roy smirked, and stood up, flinching a bit when his full weight came down on his feet. One step and he was on his own bed. Settling himself in with his back against his pillow, he waited while Ed poured water for them both, and set the water jug on the stool between the cots. Roy accepted one of the cups with a nod, and sipped it, his eyes averted, while Edward stripped off his black over-coat, tank top, and jeans. The room was chilly, but it didn't seem to bother Edward, who crawled under the blanket and lay down on the bed, his cheek propped up on one fist.

"They're planning for war," Edward said, flatly. His eyes were focused on the water jug.

Roy murmured his agreement and took another sip of water.

"The Mechanical Alchemist...Hogan..." Edward rolled over on his stomach, crossing his arms over the pillow and resting his chin on his wrist. "She hasn't seen her husband in two months. They've got him, somewhere, here. She told me not to bet on seeing Havoc, either."

"You were able to talk?" Roy calmly finished off his cup of water, and set it on the stool next to the jug.

"Not much." Edward rolled one shoulder, a lazy, tired shrug. "Just quick snatches, here and there. Most of the day I..." He closed his eyes, and was silent for several long moments before he opened them again, turning to set his gaze squarely on Roy. The lamp's golden glow caught Edward's eyes, setting them to bronze. "Today I transmuted nearly one ton of ore – and gunpowder – into bullets...roughly forty thousand rounds of forty-five caliber ammunition."

Roy did the math quickly, and noting Edward's expectant look, spoke his thoughts out loud. "One hundred rounds per soldier, carried in a bandolier. Another hundred issued per soldier, for replacements. Going by military standards, that's enough ammunition for a little less than a battalion."

"Battalion..."

"Two hundred-forty three soldiers." Roy sighed, and closed his eyes. "Drachma has often produced the ammunitions and weaponry used in resistance movements, like in..." He shifted, and ignored the itchy sensation in his left hand, as he censored his thoughts. "...the past. And there were indications Drachma is involved somehow in this most recent uprising¯"

"But if Soswell can produce the ammunition itself, why bother with Drachma? That many people armed, there's no need to deal with smuggling weapons or ammunition across the mountains," Edward whispered. "I saw some of the plans Hogan was consulting, when they let me take a break..."

"And? Did you get a good look?"

"Yeah, but I don't know what I was looking at." Edward scratched the bridge of his nose, and dropped his head on the pillow. "Looked like engines, to me, if I had to guess. But it was strange, all blown up, with arrows and lines..."

Roy nodded, vaguely familiar with the type of engineering drawing, but not sure of the term. "Engines," he muttered. "Transportation." He pondered that for a second, before jumping to a different line of questioning. "How about the guards? Exits? Location?"

"Don't know. We were locked into a windowless room, just us and two guards, and instructions from Kelly." Edward made a face. "Thought I was going to choke to death, when the gunpowder got thick in the air after the first transmutation. I figured out how to do it without stirring it all up, though."

Explosive, too, Roy thought. He risked a look at Edward, but the young man didn't seem aware of the risks, or chose to disregard them.

"I saw the walls, when they took off the blindfold. They're about six feet thick...I could blast through that, but..." He frowned, and laid his head down to stare at the water jug. "I thought I had the route memorized on the way down, but the trip back seemed half the length. It's going to take one or two more trips before I can get out of there, back to here, without getting lost."

"I know the route from here to that large room on the upper floor," Roy said. "Bring me a pen and I'll start a map. We can compare."

Edward raised his head, giving Roy a look, somewhere between bemused and skeptical.

"I'm not using my blood again," Roy retorted, but softened it with a smile. "A pen is good enough. I'm sure you can manage it."

"You mean like this?" Edward rolled over on his side, and clapped his hands together, pressing them down on the water jug. The pottery jug's outline swirled, then reformed, a little smaller, and something rolled off the edge of the stool and onto the floor. Edward leaned over, grabbing the item, and tossed it to Roy. "There. Knock yourself out."

Roy smirked, and studied the pencil. Experimentally, he opened the agriculture text to the back page, and scribbled on the end flap. The graphite was a light gray, but seemed to work reasonably well. Edward got up from his cot, wandering over to the table, but Roy didn't bother to look up, busy idly drawing a series of crossing lines. He was startled by another flash of blue light. He looked up to see Edward standing by the bed, holding out a sheaf of papers.

"That book looked pretty stupid, so might as well put the stuff to better use," Edward said, lifting up the book of boy's stories, which was now half as thick as originally. Roy arched an eyebrow, and took the papers.

"I'll have you know I was saving that book," he informed Edward, who snorted. Roy pulled his legs up, letting them down on either side of the cot so he was straddling it. "It'd make a great fuel if it gets any colder in here."

"For someone with an affinity to fire, you sure seem to get chilled easily," Edward noted. He noted Roy pointing at the end of the cot, and frowned. "What?"

"Sit down," Roy said, catching the annoyed tone just in time, and changing it to more of a request by the last word. "You're awake, now."

"True," Edward replied. He sat down on the cot, facing Roy, pulling his automail leg under him, while his other leg stretched out across the flagstones. Edward watched as Roy spread out four of the pages, drawing a quick series of lines horizontally and vertically. "What are you doing? Thought you were¯"

"I am," Roy said, waving his hand at Edward. "Just hold on." He finished the rudimentary graph, and considered it for a second before picking a point in the lower-right corner. "Nine steps in this direction. Then twenty-seven in this direction..." He drew a thicker line, recalling what he'd counted and the turns. Edward stared, his brows lowered, and when Roy got to the point where he'd taken the stairs, Edward stopped him.

"What were the stairs like?"

"Stone," Roy answered. "Wide enough for three people to walk abreast easily, from what I could tell."

"Like the ones I took," Edward said. "But I went down, not up."

"Main stairs, then," Roy guessed, and drew a thick block around the end-point. "Your paths, today?"

Edward rattled off the series of steps and turns he'd counted in the morning, watching intently as Roy sketched them out. His path ended at the same point, where Roy had indicated the stairs would be. Then Edward recounted his return path, starting from the stairs. They stared at the rough map, and Roy chuckled.

"Start and end at the same place," he said, throwing down the pencil. "Looks like your path this afternoon was the direct route, too."

"I can probably expect they'll take a different one each time," Edward mused, turning the papers around as he studied them. He leaned his right elbow on his knee, his fingers against his forehead, and picked up the pencil. He was shading parts of the map, but Roy noticed Edward's right fingers were lightly massaging his forehead, too. "There's a room here, because I bumped the doorframe coming back. And here, there's an office of some sort...Franco stopped and spoke to someone, and I hear a door close right near by."

Roy nodded. "It's a warren, to say the least."

"I didn't see any place in Soswell even half this size," Edward grumbled. "It'd be damn hard to hide a building like this..."

"Unless the majority of it is underground," Roy replied. "We're just barely at ground level, I think."

Edward turned, staring at the window, then hopped up from the bed. In two steps he was leaping up onto the table, glaring at Roy in an almost precautionary manner before pushing the woolen curtain aside and looking out. He remained there for several minutes, craning his neck while he tried to get a good look. Finally he dropped the curtain, frowning thoughtfully as he jumped down from the table and returned to his earlier position at the end of Roy's cot.

"Either it's a cloudy night, so there's no stars, or we're too close to something else and it's blocking the way. I don't see any lights, though, so if it's houses nearby, they don't have windows facing us."

"Could be an alleyway," Roy mused, half to himself. "We get some daylight, but I have yet to hear any noises from outside."

"Don't you dare climb up on that table to look," Edward said, abruptly. "Your injuries aren't up to that."

"I wasn't planning on it," Roy replied, mildly irritated he was that transparent to Edward. Shaking his head at himself, he gathered up the papers and the pencil, and carefully stowed them under the edge of the cot, between the narrow mattress and the wooden frame. "Keep track of your trips, and we'll keep comparing that to the map."

Edward nodded, and leaned forward, rubbing his forehead again. Roy watched, his brows slowly lowering.

"You keep doing that," Roy said, his voice as low and bland as possible. When Edward looked up, startled, Roy pointed vaguely at Edward's raised hand. "Your head..."

"Hurts," Edward said, and shrugged. "Now you made me eat, I'm awake. And my headache's back with a vengeance."

"I can't transmute medicine," Roy replied, hesitantly. He studied Edward, feeling reluctant to say or do anything, but at the same time, letting it go didn't feel right. Edward had spent at least two hours cleaning him up after Creighton's goon. And, Roy suspected, Edward either remained to watch over him, or the drugs had brought on particularly vivid dreams. He hadn't decided yet which he wanted it to be, and he hadn't yet let himself think about it, for that matter. Perhaps Edward, dodging his memories of the fire, was feeling the same. Roy puzzled over that for a second, and set it aside.

"I knew someone who could..." Edward grinned slyly, but the look faded into one of suspicion when Roy raised his right hand and pointed at Edward. "What?"

"Turn around, and scoot closer."

"Why?" Edward leaned back, his eyes narrowing.

"I know how to get rid of your headache," Roy said. When Edward didn't move, Roy dropped his hand, trying to keep his expression impassive but feeling like an idiot. Edward was still waiting, his hands braced by his thighs, as though ready to jump backwards. Roy stared down at his hands. "When I was studying for my National Alchemists' exam, I would get the worst headaches...Hughes always..." He shrugged, and smiled, still not looking up. "No offense meant, Fullmetal. Go to bed. Try to get some sleep."

Roy kept his head down, waiting for the creak and shift of the bed to tell him Edward had risen. It came, but it was accompanied by a peculiar rustling sound, and Roy glanced up, puzzled. Edward had turned around, and was cautiously moving backwards towards him, pausing, as though waiting, and then moving back an inch or two farther. Edward's shoulders were a rigid line.

And to think that once, Roy told himself, I would have assumed that tension was because Edward would never willingly turn his back on me.

But something had changed in the past few days, and Roy was almost certain that such a joke would not be taken well. He kept his hands down, watching through lowered eyes as Edward continued to gradually move backwards until his hip touched Roy's thigh; Edward froze, almost shying away from the contact. Roy didn't move, unwilling to startle Edward further. After a moment, Edward exhaled, and leaned backwards, just a little.

Roy raised his right hand, wincing at the pull on the burns and bruises, and took a deep breath to let the pain subside. Making as much noise as possible to warn Edward, he placed his hand across the back of Edward's neck. The young man flinched away from the touch, and Roy moved with it, letting his hand rest gently on the nape of Edward's neck. Another heartbeat, and Edward shifted minutely backwards, unconsciously indicating his permission.

Thumb and forefinger, pressing lightly, then harder, on either side of the spine. It wasn't easy with only one hand, and Roy had to twist a little. Putting his weight on his toes, he started to move sideways, then thought better of it.

"Turn," he whispered to Edward, who tensed, then nodded, shifting sideways on the bed under pressure of Roy's fingers on his right shoulder, just above the automail. When he'd moved far enough, Roy squeezed, and Edward froze again, turning his head away. Roy gently lifted the braid, nudging it with his knuckles until it was pushed over Edward's shoulder, and began again.

Now that Edward was sitting at more of an angle, Roy could get a better grasp without stretching his injured arm too far. He began at the base of Edward's neck, keeping the touch light, but soon had to press harder as it became clear that Edward's muscles were knotted solid with tension and exhaustion. His thumb and forefinger moved up the side of Edward's neck, bit by bit, kneading and manipulating the muscles underneath, until Roy's palm was flat against the nape of Edward's neck while he massaged behind Edward's ears.

A soft sound caught Roy off-guard, and he barely kept his hand steady, the movement unbroken, as the sound came again. Edward's head was drooping, and Roy held his breath, leaning forward to look. The young man's eyes were almost completely closed, his face slack, and there...the sound came again...and Roy sat back, unable to hide a smug smile.

Edward Elric was _whimpering_.

Granted, it had a quality that made Roy suspect Edward was still aware enough to try and swallow the inadvertent sound, but it was definitely on the pleasure end of the spectrum. Roy decided to ignore it, and continue. The priority was to get rid of Edward's headache, he told himself sternly. The purpose...well, that, he knew, was less because he particularly liked stretching his injured arm, and more because he owed it to Edward.

Equivalent trade, he told himself. It was irrelevant whether Edward's assistance was in return for Roy's actions at the guest quarters in Soswell, as far as Roy was concerned. That, Roy knew, he would have done – and did – with no expectation of a return. But he wasn't going to let Edward's actions go by without doing his best to provide a return, if possible. He couldn't see that Edward would respect anything less.

Roy moved his hand, sliding his palm across Edward's neck, and wrapped his hand around the left shoulder. Pressing with all four fingers in rapid succession, he could feel the muscles bunch and separate as his fingers played across the skin like practicing scales. Edward's head lolled to the side, an obvious invitation, and once again Roy had to hope Edward wouldn't turn around and see his smug expression as he continued the varying pressure from the top of the arm, across the shoulder, and up to Edward's neck.

He wondered if Hughes had had the same pleased expression, those times he'd managed to send Roy straight to sleep on his books. Roy recalled doing his best to remain stiff and unyielding under Hughes' insistent fingers, but he never managed for longer than a few minutes before he was pleasantly drifting. Roy studied the relaxed curve of Edward's left shoulder, and nodded mentally.

Pliable, he thought. Yeah, that about sums it up – perhaps _this_ was the day to be marked down as a national holiday. On this day, Edward Elric was momentarily pliable.

Roy doubted it'd last, but he kept going. After all, Edward hadn't stopped at Roy's protests when bandaging him, and Edward certainly wasn't protesting now.

He did another finger-trill along Edward's skin, checking the muscles had loosen to his satisfaction, and moved his hand to Edward's right shoulder. His fingers came down on the scars by the automail port, and Edward's body suddenly flinched. Roy noted that Edward leaned sideways, not forward, however, and waited. The exhalation wouldn't have been noticeable by anyone not touching Edward, and Roy took the slight shift back upright as a sign he had permission to continue.

The muscles were hard as a rock, and Roy raised his eyebrows at the unbelievable number of knots. Hughes had always complained bitterly, afterwards, how much his hands hurt, but it had never stopped him from offering – and insisting – when Roy had hit his limit while studying. But then, Roy mused, only Hughes had been able to tell when that was, and Hughes was the only person who'd ever called him on it. Roy's eyes closed halfway, losing himself in memories, as his fingers worked and pressed and prodded at the knots along Edward's right shoulder, and back up his neck.

When the muscles were suitably hammered into relaxation, Roy pressed his palm against the back of Edward's neck, and stared at the braid laying across his fingers. He felt a stab go through his heart, knowing that he'd never offered to return the favor for Hughes, but he wasn't sure whether Hughes would have allowed it. But then, he knew, that was one way in which he and his best friend had been so much alike: what they would do for another, they wouldn't always accept for themselves. Perhaps it was simply a matter of doing without asking. Words would break the balance.

He stretched his fingers, lifting the braid and letting it fall across the back of his hand. Tugging at the tie, he combed the braid out. The golden strands fell, draping across Edward's back. Edward shifted, uncomfortably, and Roy made a shushing sound. Edward stilled, and Roy smiled to himself. Definitely pliable, and trusting, and Roy didn't plan on betraying that.

Roy ran his fingers up across Edward's scalp, and began scratching lightly. This time, the happy sound was more audible, if sleepy. Roy grinned outright, and scratched a little more vigorously. Edward's head tilted under his fingertips, leaning into his hand, turning to wordlessly guide Roy's fingers to a particularly good spot. Roy was quick to pick up the cue, and spent several minutes concentrating on the area behind Edward's ears, then up to the top of Edward's head. He ran his fingers through Edward's unkempt bangs, massaging and scratching alternately, his eyebrows raised in delighted shock at the fact that Edward's head had fallen back to give Roy better access.

"Mm," Edward said, almost more of a breath.

"Headache better?" Roy's question was a whisper, reluctant to break the spell.

"What headache..." Edward sighed, and turned his head again, so Roy could scratch behind his other ear.

That headache, Roy thought, and chuckled silently. Testing, he paused, letting his fingers grow still, tangled in Edward's hair, and Edward made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. Roy almost laughed out loud, but settled for smirking.

"Bet you do this to all the girls," Edward murmured in a cranky tone of voice, as though he were still putting up a fight. His body language – the lines languid, the turn of the head, the hands lax at his sides – were a dead giveaway the words were for show.

"Actually, no," Roy said. Actually, never, he amended, but didn't say it. Edward made a skeptical sound, and Roy chose his words carefully. "My...mother used to do this, when I couldn't sleep." And Hughes, but he couldn't say that out loud.

"Mm," Edward mumbled, but it seemed as though Roy's answers had been acceptable. When he turned his head to allow Roy at the pleasure spot behind his left ear, Roy could see that Edward's eyes were closed, a dreamy smile on his lips.

Roy suddenly felt like ten fires, twenty lives, wouldn't be enough to repay the unexpected pleasure of seeing that small, private, unselfconscious smile on Edward's face. That alone, he knew, was payment in kind, with interest beyond anything Roy would ever deserve.

The realization made his heart ache, and he gradually let his fingers grow still. He fully expected Edward to take advantage of the implied dismissal. Instead, Edward made the most peculiar growl in the back of his throat and leaned backwards, turning his head as though searching out Roy's fingers. Roy blinked, and couldn't even find the wherewithal to smirk, too shocked by Edward's response. Suddenly nervous, he massaged lightly, then harder as Edward leaned into the touch. Roy sighed, relaxing as well, and even the twinges in his shoulder couldn't stop him from enjoying it as long as possible.

After a few more minutes, though, Roy's shoulder and arm were aching enough that he had to lower his hand. Edward didn't react, his head hanging forward, and Roy frowned, watching the even rise and fall of Edward's chest. His eyebrows shot up, and he shifted on the cot, moving sideways gingerly, far enough to see Edward's face. The bronze lashes were laying on Edward's cheeks, the mouth open in a small 'o', and that soft purring snore greeted Roy's ears.

Roy sighed. He wanted Edward to get rest, but not on his bed, damn it. He needed rest, too. Roy chewed his lower lip, contemplating the arrangements. Moving as slowly as possible, even holding his breath, he stood up, pausing to let the pain from his foot arc and subside before he lifted himself from the bed, raising his other leg over the cot without bumping Edward. The young man swayed, murmuring something under his breath, and Roy quickly put his hand on Edward's head, scratching lightly. Edward sighed, and relaxed into sleep again, and Roy gently laid him down, pulling the pillow down from its position as back rest.

Snagging the blanket, he laid it over Edward, who mumbled something into the pillow and was quiet again. Roy shook his head at the sleeping figure, smiled, and blew out the lamp.

.

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* * *

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Alright, that's the last chapter I've got on Scimitar. From now on, you'll need to read on the fma-fan elist, or on Scimitar. Thanks for reading here, everyone, I do appreciate knowing you're out there. If it helps any, I'm busy trying to code a review function for Scimitar, for those of you who really like the review function on ff.net. ;D

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	9. shadow of desire: resolved

**The Shadow of Desire **• **9 **• **resolved**

_ The cut worm forgives the plow._  
— William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

•

* * *

Shortly before dawn, Roy woke, and wondered what in his dreams had kicked him back out into the world of cold and damp. He cracked his eyes open in time to see Edward rolling over on his cot to face Roy, but Edward's expression was masked by the shadows of the dim light through the window. He seemed to be sleeping, and Roy didn't move. He was too unsure how Edward would act, when he woke up. It was enough, Roy figured, that Edward had allowed the comfort. He wasn't sure how Edward would handle the recollection of his vulnerability - or the fact that he'd clearly communicated _wanting_ that comfort. Roy fully expected Edward to deny the event had ever occurred, perhaps with a cold shoulder to reinforce the distance between them. 

Roy wondered if Edward really did remember more of the fire, and chose to deal with those memories in the same way. It was cold comfort that Roy knew he would have done the same, were the positions reversed.

When the soft tapping came at the door, a few minutes later, Roy remained where he was, eyes just barely open under his lashes, and continued to feign sleep. Edward sat up with a growl on the other cot, yawning widely, and glared at the door. The door swung open with a whoosh, and Edward greeted the person with a wry shrug.

"Five minutes," Edward whispered. "I'll knock when I'm ready."

The door swung shut, and Edward sighed, running a hand through his hair absently as he slouched, staring down at his lap. Then he sat up, stretched widely, and leaned over to light the lamp. Perching on the edge of the cot, he finger-combed his hair. Braiding it as neatly as he could manage, he wriggled around on the bed, holding the braid with one hand while he searched for the hair-tie. Finding it under the covers, he tied off the end of the braid and threw it over his shoulder, then climbed off the low cot.

Roy let his eyes close the rest of the way as Edward neared, picking up his jeans, then his tank top and jacket. Socks were next, Roy guessed, from the sounds of Edward sitting back down on the cot, then the clunk of boots dragged closer, and the whish of cotton against the leather. Roy dared to open his eyes again, startled to see Edward staring at him, a pensive look on the young man's face. Edward's eyes were narrowed. For a second, Roy thought he'd been found out. He fully expected Edward to go into a rant, or to make some comment, but Edward didn't move, only stared.

Then Edward sighed deeply, lowering his head for another long minute before standing. Turning, he bent over the bed, then turned back towards Roy, who let his eyes close fully again. Two heavy footfalls, and Edward was standing over Roy; the heat of his legs was right by Roy's hand, which was hanging off the edge of the cot.

Roy nearly gave himself away by twitching in shock at the sound of a sharp snap. Something heavy landed across him, falling in graceful weight across his body, and the warmth of a blanket recently wrapped around another body. Light fingers straightened the blanket here and there, running up Roy's back to tuck the blanket gently in around his face, even pulling an edge up higher to cover his exposed ear.

He could feel Edward leaning over him; the warmth of Edward's left hand hovering close, and Roy had to concentrate to keep his breathing steady. He couldn't hide the reflexive movement, though, when fingers brushed through his hair, pushing the tangled strands out of his face. Roy covered by mumbling something, and the fingers withdrew for a second. Roy relaxed his body, appearing to fall back into sleep, and to his amazement, the fingers returned. They caught the last thick strand and pushed it out of Roy's face, then smoothed the blanket down one more time.

The footsteps moved away from the bed, then the lamp dimmed. The footsteps heading towards the door were lighter, as though Edward were trying to keep from waking Roy. The tapping was almost inaudible, followed by the whoosh of wood against stone when the door opened and closed. There was a click of the lock falling into place, and Roy was alone in the room.

After several heartbeats, Roy's left hand came up from under the blankets. With the bandages going up to his fingertips, he couldn't quite feel, but somehow that made it feel all the more like someone else's fingers, brushing his forehead. Both astonished and...relieved, he thought, but no, that wasn't the right word; perhaps comforted? Roy mimicked Edward's unexpected gesture, unable to figure out his reaction. Sighing, he dropped his hand, and drifted back into true sleep.

•

* * *

• 

Erin arrived with breakfast several hours after Edward left, reapplied the salve, rebandaged all the burns and cuts, and left. By lunch, Roy decided the chances were good that Creighton had figured out being stuck in a small room with a pile of books on farming was a form of torture that required far less effort on Creighton's part.

Roy intermittently read and slept until lunch, which arrived with more books. He reviewed the titles, mildly amused, and was soon lost in reminiscing of riding the oxen with Cody while their father steered the plow. The memories didn't ache like they once had, nor did they inspire him to move farther away, as if fleeing the dirt under his fingernails, the smell of fresh hay in his boots. Years of living in the city, answering to the military, and he still knew the right time to plant, and whether the summer would be harsh, based on the winter's patterns.

He was surprised when someone knocked; unaware that dinnertime had arrived so soon. Roy put down the book expectantly, noting the fading light in the window, and realized he should light the lamp. The door swung open, and Roy carefully got up from the bed to greet Erin or Kelly.

It wasn't someone he recognized.

Franco was in the doorway, and a second man was pushing through, broad-shouldered, and with black curly hair chopped short. The man's teeth were as crooked as Franco's, and he cracked his knuckles. That was all the warning Roy got.

The man landed one punch in Roy's gut, and Roy doubled over, the breath knocked out of him. A second punch caught him on the jaw, and he came upright, turning his head with the blow. It didn't help. A second punch to his stomach bent him over again, and Roy's legs gave out as his back and shoulder protested the abrupt movements. The man back-fisted him across the cheek. Roy twisted as he fell, his arms wrapped around his stomach. The man's weight shifted, and Roy knew another punch was coming. He stayed on his knees, but put out his right hand, reaching for the array under the bed.

"Chervaise, enough," Franco hollered. "Don't fuckin' kill him, you sadist."

The man standing over Roy just laughed, a coarse sound, and kicked Roy in the ribs. Roy fell backwards, slamming into the wall, but closed his throat against the cry trying to force itself out. He raised his right hand again, but the shadow over him was gone. The door slammed, and Roy was left alone in the room.

•

* * *

• 

It took Roy probably ten minutes, perhaps more - he wasn't sure - before he could move onto the bed. His ribs ached, and his knees were bruised, but he gritted his teeth and arranged himself on the bed as he had been before Franco and Chervaise had paid their visit. When Erin opened the door, Roy was again buried in the book on modern farming practices.

"I brought dinner," Erin said, quietly. "And ice. Here." He held out a bowl, which had a towel and several handfuls of ice. Roy took the towel-wrapped ice and placed it against his left cheek, flinching at the cold. Erin sighed and put the tray down on the table. "Figures I'd find you sitting there like nothing happened."

Roy arched a single eyebrow in response.

"Not saying I'm figuring you out," Erin said, pulling the stool over to the left side of the cot. He took Roy's hand, and began to unwrap it, checking the burns for their progress healing. "Just that between you and me, I don't think you're quite as helpless as you pretend."

"Mm." Roy shifted the ice against his cheek.

"You wouldn't have to go through this if Fullmetal would just do as he's asked," Erin said, and he made a frustrated sound before wrapping Roy's hand again. "Everything's healing nicely. Another two or three days, and you should have better mobility. But that stubborn Alchemist pulls a stunt like that..."

Roy glared, and Erin didn't continue. Instead, the young man checked the rest of the bandages in silence, and then brought the tray over to the cot. He paused, his fingers twitching nervously as if he were considering saying something. Instead he sighed and left.

Fuck, Roy thought. He set down the ice pack, and raised his right hand in front of his face. He snapped his fingers, once, and dropped the hand with a sigh.

I could have done it, easily, he told himself. The array had been well within reach, and he wasn't so beaten down he couldn't muster the strength to energize an array, not when the action was second nature to him. It would have required little effort, but he'd hesitated. Roy tried to assure himself it was because he did want to find out who was running the operation, rather than just pull the building down on their heads and deal with the consequences later. He couldn't lie, however, as much as it might make things easier. He'd hesitated because he wasn't willing to force his way to freedom without warning Edward. And Havoc, he added, frowning. They still didn't know where Havoc was.

Roy picked up the ice pack, and set it against his cheek.

The real question was whether Edward had discovered anything in his second day of transmutations for Creighton. If he hadn't, Roy was going to lay down the line. The longer they stayed, the worse things would get. Edward simply wasn't cut out for the kind of duplicity such infiltration would require. Letting him stay - or worse, forcing him to stay - would only undermine their purpose, and Edward's self-respect, in the end.

•

* * *

• 

Edward didn't return until it was dark; an hour or two after sundown by Roy's guess. Roy had the lamp lit, and Edward's share of dinner waiting on the table. The last of the day's books was in Roy's hand, and he was on his own cot across from the door to be ready for any unexpected visitors. He heard the click of the lock, and lowered the book, not entirely surprised to see Edward thrashing against the shackles, a running streak of curses rolling from his lips. Franco was undoing the shackles while Kelly waited with the door keys; when Franco yanked off the blindfold, Edward scowled and tore away from them, into the room. The door swung shut behind him as he launched himself at Roy's cot.

"Mustang," Edward said, breathlessly. He landed on the edge of the cot by Roy's side, and didn't even seem to notice Roy's amused look. Edward's automail hand brushed Roy's bruised cheek, the metal cool on Roy's skin. "Fucking _bastards_," Edward muttered, and dropped his hand. He turned his back on Roy, perched on the edge of the cot, then slowly slid off it, sinking down to the ground. "I thought I'd gotten away with it, and then Creighton walked in, and—"

"It's nothing, Edward."

Edward halted, and Roy realized what he'd said. Edward twisted in place to look up at Roy, who stared back, challenging Edward to call him on the slip.

"It's _not_ nothing...Mustang," Edward said, very softly. "I got caught, and you paid for it. I was testing them, but I didn't expect—" He bowed his head, and his braid fell forward to thump against his collarbone. "I'm sorry."

"No need for apologies." Roy resisted the urge to put a hand on Edward's shoulder. He wasn't sure how Edward would react, and he wasn't up to defending himself if Edward went on the defensive. It was different when Edward had been younger; now, Roy told himself, there was no need to grasp Edward by the shoulder, grip hard, and speak words that would cut the boy to the bone and motivate him to act, not regret.

"Mustang," Edward said, and shook his head. "When..." He didn't finish, and his head hung low for several seconds before he stirred, his tone distant, more businesslike. "Took a different route today. Map."

Roy nodded and set his book aside, leaning over to dig under the mattress on the side opposite Edward. The twist sideways put stress on his bruised ribs.

"Stop," Edward said, abruptly. He'd put his hand on Roy's left arm, halting Roy's movement. His voice was low, and dangerous. "There's more?"

"Depends on who's asking," Roy replied in a flat tone. He continued digging under the edge of the cot.

"It's me, you bastard." Edward snorted, and knocked Roy's hand out of the way. He sprawled over the cot, lying across Roy's legs to wend his hand between the cot and the frame, grunting as he pulled out the map and pencil. Edward sat back up, riffling through the papers, and shifted absentmindedly when Roy made a face and tried to free his pinned leg. Edward stood up, his gaze still fixed on the map. Roy sat up straighter, straddling the cot just in time when Edward sat back down cross-legged on the other end of the cot.

"Just make yourself at home, Fullmetal," Roy grumbled under his breath.

"No problem, Flame," Edward replied without missing a beat. He spread the papers out on the bed between them and made a show of reviewing the map before fixing Roy with a piercing look. "I transmuted the gunpowder to flour." He picked up the pencil, twirling it between his fingers. "I think I got one batch past them before they tested it." He leaned over, and began drawing his morning route from their room to the stairs. "Creighton came in, and gave me a choice. Havoc, or you." The line crossed Roy's path twice, and followed Edward's first trail for several lengths. "He didn't say what they'd do, but Hogan was practically begging them not to, and I... " Edward sketched in his return path, and studied the results. "I thought..." He ducked his head, his fingers squeezing the pencil tightly. His hand was shaking.

"Fullmetal," Roy murmured. He looked over the map, committing it to memory, and put his attention squarely back on Edward. "You have to get out."

"Not until we find Havoc," Edward replied, his head still down. The pencil creaked in his left hand, and Roy reached forward, tugging it out of Edward's grip. "If I get out now, then—"

"It's one of the risks," Mustang agreed. He didn't feel quite so certain or calm on the inside, but he hadn't made it to Brigadier General by showing his hand at the onset of a game. "You're capable, you have the ability to get out, and you're not injured."

"You'll be better in a few days—"

"And it's not in your nature to lay low and make weapons of war while you wait for me to recuperate," Mustang pointed out.

"Hell, normally I wouldn't waste any time waiting for you at all," Edward cracked, raising his head as he took the pencil back. He didn't hold Roy's eyes for very long, lowering his lashes to stare at the map again as he doodled an array on the corner. "Recognize this?"

"Looks like the beginnings of a transmutation array, for chimera," Roy said, frowning.

"It's one Hogan's been working with. I think...I think there are animal parts in the mechanical equipment she's building." Edward's grip on the pencil was white-knuckled. "I haven't seen any animals, but I heard dogs barking on my—" The pencil cracked, and Edward was silent, but his shoulders heaved for several heartbeats.

"Tomorrow, Fullmetal. You get out. Leave Havoc to me."

"Bullshit, General," Edward shot back. "You'll be lucky to walk ten feet." He pointed at Roy's chest, where dark bruises had formed since Chervaise's visit. "And I bet one punch and you'd be on your knees. A week."

"Tomorrow." Roy arched an eyebrow, and Edward glared at him.

"A week. I'll figure out out where Havoc and Hogan's family are by then." His eyes narrowed, calculating. "And I won't get caught again, either."

"Tomorrow," Roy answered. "Go now, while you can."

"That's putting four lives in on the line - five if they count Hogan." Edward's tone was intractable.

"Consider it a direct order, Fullmetal."

"You can shove your direct orders, General!" Edward exploded upwards, throwing himself off the cot. "There's no way I'm—"

It was time to stop pulling the punches, Roy decided. He made his voice flat, and cold, and kept it low enough that their guard wouldn't hear his half. "You made enough bullets yesterday to kill forty thousand people." Edward flinched, but Roy kept going. "Between that and the five of us, the balance is clear."

"Bastard! Don't you dare use that argument on me!" Edward raged, his arms tensed, his body vibrating from the fury visible in every tense muscle. "I'm not going to—"

The door flew open, banging against the wall; Roy shifted his leg in time to cover the rudimentary map. Franco stood in the doorway. "What's going on in here?"

"He won't drink his milk," Roy answered, calmly.

Edward's mouth fell open. He goggled at Roy.

"You don't like milk?" Franco looked Edward up and down.

Edward glared.

"Hunh." Franco shrugged. "That would explain why you're so—"

"DON'T SAY IT!" Edward shouted at the top of his lungs. "I get enough crap from that smirking, sarcastic asshole, I do NOT need it from YOU!"

The door slammed shut, and the only reply from Franco was the sound of the bolt being driven home. Edward stared for a minute, then sank down on the end of Roy's cot. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Mustang," Edward said, very quietly, then paused, and his voice dropped even lower. "Roy...I won't leave without bringing all of you with me. And on my way out, I'll destroy all that ammunition. I'm not going to let more people die, and I'm not going to let another war start."

Roy nodded, slowly, caught off-guard by the sudden intimacy of hearing Edward say his given name. It bespoke volumes, but reminded him of Hughes, too. They rarely called each other by first names, and when they did, it meant something. From Edward's exhausted stance and level voice, it meant the same thing here.

_We are equals. Listen to me. _

"Understood," Roy murmured, just as softly. _We are. I am._

"When we do this, I'll get Havoc and meet up with you." Edward slouched, resting his chin on his left fist, as his right fist massaged the back of his neck. "I also need to find out where they're keeping Hogan's family."

"You need to find a way to talk to Hogan—"

"I told you, those guards—"

"—Won't know alchemy," Roy finished for Edward. "She's military," he added. Edward was giving him a puzzled look, and Roy sighed. Taking the broken pencil, he sketched several array components, the kind any beginner learns. "This means help, this means left, this means right. This one is for safety, this for danger, this for ally."

Edward snorted. "Those show up in every array."

"Use them on their own," Roy said, exasperated, but he let Edward stare at the arrays for several seconds.

"The guards know I don't need an array," Edward pointed out, rubbing his forehead. He winced as he bumped against the fading bruise on his temple.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Roy replied, with a smirk. He gathered up the papers and the broken pencil ends. Edward took them, leaning over and tucking them away under the cot. "Dinner, Fullmetal," Roy said, jerking his head towards the table. "And yes, I ate already."

Edward mumbled something and stood up. He pulled off his jacket and threw it across the room, aiming for his cot but missing. He headed to the table, where he wolfed down the dinner Erin had left. He didn't even bother to sit down, but ate the soup standing up, the bowl's lip to his mouth.

Dropping the bowl, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and ignored the cup of milk sitting by the bowl. He returned to sit on the end of Roy's cot. Roy eyed Edward's movement, his expression impassive to cover his worry. Edward's entire body radiated exhaustion, and he was rubbing his forehead again.

"Hogan won't talk much," Edward whispered, dropping his hand. "I think she's really scared, and...I mean...two months..." He shook his head, and turned away from Roy, facing the door.

Roy frowned, mildly puzzled by Edward's curious shift on the end of the cot. Edward shifted again, just a little, and Roy had to swallow his smile. "Headache?" He didn't use Edward's title or name, uncertain which was appropriate in this situation.

Edward shrugged nonchalantly, but nodded a little at the same time.

"Move closer," Roy coaxed, his voice low. Edward's shoulders went stiff, then he gradually moved a foot closer to Roy's end of the cot.

"It's not that bad." Edward bristled, but his words didn't carry a great deal of conviction.

"I'm sure," Roy soothed. "Your choice." He kept his hands in his lap, loose, relaxed, his feet planted squarely on either side of the cot.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Edward said, but a heartbeat later he scooted a little closer to Roy. "Can I...ask you a question?"

Roy leaned back against the pillow, pleased that he could do so with less pain than the day before. "Depends. What's the question?"

"How..." Edward scuffed a foot against the floor, then toed off his boots, letting each drop with a thump. He slanted a quick look at Roy, pensive. "How did you meet Lieutenant Colonel Hughes?"

"He wasn't a Lieutenant Colonel when I met him," Roy said, bemused at both the question and the fact that Edward had just moved several inches farther along the bed under the pretense of picking up his boots and throwing them at the ground by the other cot. "He was a scrawny fourteen year old." Roy snorted. "A very pissed-off scrawny fourteen-year old."

"What did you do? Steal his girlfriend?" Edward smirked sideways.

"Ah..." Roy returned the look, but it was tempered with a wry tone. "Not really. She just had a crush on me. To be fair, I was utterly ignorant of it."

Edward made a skeptical sound...and moved a few inches more. He was almost within arm's reach, and had turned a little away from Roy, angled like he'd been the night before.

"Hughes didn't believe me, either," Roy muttered, somewhere between embarrassed at how ignorant he'd been at fourteen, and charmed by the memories of his first showdown with Hughes. "He was quite indignant. And he had a mean right hook, even then."

"He beat you up?" Edward's hand flew up and then dropped just as quickly. It seemed he was shocked at his own question, but trying to cover.

"No, just one punch..." But that's all it ever took, he added mentally. Roy shrugged, a rolling motion with his good shoulder, and smiled into the room's dim light, remembering other arguments. "That girl was brainless, anyway. I think he decided I was more fun to torment...and I never managed to get rid of him, after that."

"You were friends for a long time," Edward mused, and shifted one last time until his hips were resting against Roy's thigh.

"Friends would be pushing it, sometimes," Roy grumbled, and put his hand on Edward's neck, rubbing lightly. The flinch was barely perceptible, but still there. Roy sighed, feeling the shiver under Edward's skin, and continued to press his fingers into the knotted muscles. "Hughes and his damn photographs. Before Alicia, it was Gracia. Before Gracia, it was motorcycles. Before that, he had no camera, so he constantly taunted me with trading cards." Roy hunched his shoulders involuntarily, remembering his envy over his friend's collection, when his family didn't have money for such unessential things. A thumb, pressing hard against the side of Edward's neck, wrung a soft moan, and Roy smiled, both at the past and present. "Hughes could go on about his favorite athletes for hours."

Edward chuckled. "I bet. He did tend to..." He halted, and threw a pained look along his shoulder at Roy. "Ah...sorry. Guess it's maybe not the best—"

"No, it's fine," Roy said, and realized it really was. He moved his hands to Edward's left shoulder, massaging firmly. "I still miss him. He was..." So many things, Roy finished, silently. He settled for letting his words trail off, hoping the younger man understood.

"Ah." Edward nodded, just once, and startled Roy with a sharp smile, that teasing smirk he often saw in his mirror. Roy snorted mentally, wondering if Edward was born with that skill, or it was one more bad habit he'd picked up under Roy's command. Edward arched an eyebrow, and Roy steered Edward's head straight, so the muscles weren't twisted while Roy massaged. Edward chuckled, looking at Roy out of the corner of his eye. "So you didn't start on your infamous reputation until you were fifteen?"

Roy raised his eyebrows, amused. "What is this, your idea of interrogation?"

"I figured out the floor plan," Edward protested.

"So now I have to sing for my supper?"

"Can you?" Edward twisted in his spot, his eyes went wide.

"Not if you put the damn tune in a bucket," Roy retorted, and was pleased to see Edward grin outright even as Roy pushed his jaw to face forward again, until Roy could only see Edward's profile. "No," he continued, impulsively moving back to Edward's question. Idly he rubbed Edward's left shoulder, enjoying the sight of Edward's lids growing heavy with pleasure. "I didn't realize girls existed until...seventeen, I guess. And then, when I was eighteen..." He sighed, remembering the war, and the wars after that... "I was busy."

"Busy like you are, now," Edward said, but his tone was a little too sharp to be completely innocent.

Roy grunted. "Perhaps."

"Why?" Edward couldn't see Roy's glare, but he tilted his head as Roy's fingers began to scratch at the base of his neck. "That's what started this whole thing, y'know. You...and the girls...doing that whole..." Edward waved one hand, vaguely.

"Boredom," Roy said, almost as surprised at the word as Edward appeared to be. "I know what they'll say, and do, and it's all the same," he explained, in a dull voice. "It gets old. It got old."

"Maybe you didn't find the right person," Edward suggested, tentatively.

"That's what Hughes always said," Roy answered, undoing the braid and combing it out with his fingers. He mimicked his old friend, "and find a wife! That's what you need, Roy!"

Edward laughed, and snagged the hair-tie, sticking it in his pocket.

"Find a wife," Roy repeated, in a lower tone. "I don't want a wife."

"Why not?" Edward leaned his head back so Roy could scratch the top of his head, and stared up at the ceiling. "Someone to keep you company, someone to—"

"—To do a lot of things, but none of them will include who I am...what I've _done_," Roy interrupted. "I don't have the time to explain everything to someone. And ignorance would only endanger them."

"Yeah." Edward's response startled Roy, and the silence was only broken by Edward's unintelligible murmurs as Roy scratched him behind the ears. "Winly..." He shifted, pulling away from Roy's hand, then leaned back again, as if too tired to move. "Y'know, Al was supposed to come along with me. I'm not sure if I'm glad that he didn't."

Roy pondered that non-sequitor, and waited.

"I could never talk to Winly," Edward mumbled, his eyes sinking closed as Roy continued to scratch, running rough fingers through Edward's hair. "Mm...right there," Edward whispered, tilting his head a little when Roy ran a finger along the curve of bone behind Edward's ear. "I mean...even when...it all started, I couldn't. I wanted her there, and I wanted her far away at the same time." He sighed, tilting his head forward until his chin was on his chest, while Roy rubbed at the base of his neck, thumb and forefinger stretching to press gently against the concave spots beneath his ears.

Roy made an agreeing sound, knowing what Edward meant, but preferring to let Edward talk if he were willing. It seemed as though there were something else, running beneath Edward's words, beneath his skin, and Roy couldn't put his finger on it, for all he massaged and pressed and prodded. All I've done for years, he thought, mildly amused by the analogy.

"I feel..." Edward sighed, his shoulders relaxing as Roy ran his hand along Edward's shoulder, his hands snagging on the black tank top. "All that hell...and I'm supposed to be happy now."

"Lose this," Roy murmured. Edward nodded automatically, his hands coming up and stripping the tank top in one smooth gesture. The shirt landed on the floor by Edward's cot, and Roy pushed at Edward's neck until the young man was bent over, his forehead against his knees. Roy leaned forward, working his fingers up the length of Edward's spine.

"I'm not," Edward continued, his voice muffled against the fabric of his jeans. "I feel like...like I'm just filling time. Passing the days. I should be happy..."

"Mm," Roy said again, because it seemed Edward needed to hear something, to know someone was listening. At the same time, Edward didn't seem to register Roy was there. It was as though he were speaking out loud, and Roy wondered where in their balance were the rules for this kind of pretense. Probably, he mused, under the same heading as those covering the question of saving one's long-standing staff member, or bathing the blood off one's commanding officer.

"Everyone seems to think I should be..."

Edward moaned, abruptly, when Roy's fingers prodded a spot in the middle of his back. He didn't speak again, and Roy flexed his left hand, deciding to go for it. Shifting a bit on the bed, he placed his left hand beside Edward's spine, mirroring the action with his good hand. Pressing the balls of his hands down firmly, he worked his way up Edward's spine, then ran his fingertips down the outside of Edward's back, and pushed his way up again.

When Roy let his left hand drop back into his lap, the pain beyond what he could manage without panting, Edward was sound asleep. Roy sighed, his right hand splayed on the small of Edward's back, and contemplated how to move Edward this time.

Next time, Roy promised himself, I offer a cure for headaches while sitting on Edward's cot, not mine. He disengaged himself, climbing out from behind Edward. Once again Roy found himself cautiously uncurling Edward to lie him down, pillow under his head. Roy ran his fingers through Edward's hair, brushing it out of his face, and smiled at the memory of fingers running across his own brow in the pre-dawn light. Then he blew out the lamp, and laid down on the other cot. He was asleep within minutes.

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	10. shadow of desire: pensive

**The Shadow of Desire **•** 10 **•** pensive**

_ A dead body revenges not injuries._  
— William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

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Roy was awake before Edward, again, but fell back into sleep when the knock came. His guard was fading, and even half-asleep he doubted it was because he'd grown accustomed to the routine. The only possible explanation was that Edward's presence was becoming less intrusive, and more part of Roy's environment. The idea amused Roy, momentarily, listening to Edward moving about quietly as he found his tank top and his jacket.

Roy was never one to let someone spend the night if he had the option; he preferred other people's houses, and always left to sleep in his own bed. He couldn't sleep elsewhere, and he certainly couldn't sleep with someone beside him. The few times he'd had lovers stay the night, in the past six or so years, he'd remained awake after the person fell asleep, acutely aware of a presence that did not belong. Why or how Edward was becoming an exception – like Hughes – was a thought Roy didn't want to ponder. He set it aside for later consideration – much later, like in several years with distance and time to see the whole picture – and drifted back into sleep. When he woke up again, both blankets were covering him.

He was amazed to find he wasn't quite as cold as he had been, and figured he was either acclimating or his body was beginning to recover from the blood loss. Erin came and went, removing the bandages from Roy's back, saying it was time the cuts be exposed to air. The same went for Roy's feet, although walking was still inadmissible until Erin could procure socks or possibly shoes. Roy didn't think it was likely, but he dutifully let Erin apply salve, leave the breakfast, and depart in silence.

Roy waited until the door was shut, counted to twenty, and got up. Moving the stool carefully over to the table, he climbed up, checking his weight several times and doing his best to ignore the strain it put on his shoulders, keeping his arms out for balance. Gingerly he edged towards the wall, keeping his steps cat-soft and his weight on the balls of his feet. Lifting the window's small curtain, he was stunned to see brick, four feet away. Roy frowned, and craned his neck, looking up.

After a long stare, he dropped the curtain, and clambered down from the table, resting on the edge before hopping off onto his feet. The window was at least one story under ground, perhaps two; it was a window-well, that probably opened up to several windows above them. They were at the ground floor for window access, at least, and Roy was sure he could have shinnied up the chute to freedom – if he had a way to get rid of the two bars, and didn't have an injured shoulder and useless hand. But it certainly explained why Edward hadn't been able to see stars, and why Roy never heard noises from outside during the day. Roy pondered it for a little longer, and returned to the cot, making himself comfortable with one of the books.

Lunch came and went, and Roy spent the afternoon reading the latest treatise on breeding farm stock. His family had never had more than two or three oxen, and a horse for trips to town. They'd spent their time worried about crops, not animals, with the exception of the family's guard dogs and the barn cats who kept rats from the corn. Roy let the book fall open on his lap, his mind wandering, memories laden with new-mown hay and river water. The mare had to have been twenty-five when she died, and had been his mother's; his father could never bring himself to get another horse, telling his sons they were old enough to walk into town if the need were that important.

That had been fine with Roy. He couldn't bear, then, the idea of some other horse accompanying him anywhere, even if the mare had been ornery and high-spirited and tended to wander off if not hobbled securely. The recollection brought a smile to Roy's face, one that he suspected was probably as small and private as Edward's had been the other night. Despite the mare's stubborn attitude, she was often his only escape. His brothers had their own interests, usually involving elaborate ways to pry Roy from his books and torment him with the threat of drowning, burning, or ripping the treasured texts.

But Mother...Roy leaned his head against the stone wall, and his smile grew, the memory-scents tempered with a note of jasmine perfume. His mother also read, devoutly, and once a week would go into town to exchange a stack of books at the town lending room for a new set—one for every day, she said. Roy went with her every time. The trips began when he was little, and he'd straddle the horse behind her, small arms clasped around her waist, his cheek pressed against the curve between her shoulder blades. As he grew older, she'd sometimes ride backwards behind him on the way home, reading out loud as the mare took her own sweet time getting them home. When he was fourteen, after the accident, she couldn't ride. Roy went without her, dutifully, every week, bringing back the books she loved, and any new ones he could cajole from the taciturn book keeper.

But he'd missed her company those two years of trips, the rare times of it just being the two of them, and he'd always made a point to buy that candy with his meager allowance, even if the doctors forbade the sweets. It was their tradition, when he was young: she'd buy a piece of strawberry candy for each of them. The kind, Roy mused, with the hard outer shell and a sweet chewy inside, and they'd stop at the river on the way home and begin one of the books together while they ate their candy and the horse grazed. It was their tradition, and he stuck to it even if it meant eating the candy in her room, off the kitchen, where her leg was propped up and her left arm was useless at her side, crushed. She could still laugh, and tease him, and read as he savored his candy, and then he'd do the same for her.

They would read their texts, he in the chair by the window, she on the bed, and no matter what they read, they always stopped to read aloud to the other any passage they particularly liked. Her voice had been the flatter tones of farming folk, but when she read, it became melodious, rolling; Roy would close his eyes and listen, savoring the words as if they were a different kind of candy.

When was the last time I sat and read by the river, Roy asked himself—hell, when was the last time I had candy?

He wondered if there was any place in Central to buy that kind of candy, tart and sweet. Or perhaps it wouldn't be the same, and once he returned to Central, life would return to the way it had been. The idea made Roy's throat tight, and he wasn't entirely sure why. There certainly was a great deal to be said for life in the city, let alone life outside a small stone-walled room. Bathtubs, for starters; clean clothes and warm beds, hot tea and cold milk, and spicy foods that would make Hughes gasp and choke while Roy smirked. He still ate the spicy food, only now the memory of Hughes' protests were a balm, not a sorrow. Perhaps the candy, too, would be a comfort, not another reminder of yet another loss.

No, Roy told himself sternly, it will be good to get back to my life, let things settle in the way they had been, and let it all go back to normal.

He tried to ignore the sadness creeping over him at the thought. He picked the book up again, determined to read and forget such idiotic notions as the idea that a small cell guarded by warmongering fanatics had anything to offer better than home.

The afternoon seemed endless, and more than once Roy nodded off into sleep, the book forgotten on his chest. He was ready to start climbing the walls, and would have tried it for pure entertainment if his left hand weren't still healing. It had started itching after breakfast, and he knew that was a good sign—the damaged nerves were growing back. But it was an infuriating situation, nonetheless, to itch so badly and not be able to do a damn thing about it. Roy flexed his hand, feeling the scar tissue bunch and pull, and dropped the hand back into his lap with a sigh.

Dinner came, another bowl of stew, and Roy promised himself he'd eat steak, fish and chicken quite happily as long as none of them were in stew form, ever again. It wasn't bad stew; he just couldn't get excited about something so repetitive.

Maybe that's another reason I never married, he thought, wondering why his mind had jumped back to Edward's questions. Every person, no matter how attractive, was eventually comprehensible, and thus boring. Someone to be with me...to keep me company? No, he told himself. Routine was comforting; he'd been in the military nearly half his life, and had no problem with that. It was the people filling the routine—no challenge, too often, and yet also too great a challenge to explain all the details of his history, as lovers often seemed to demand. Roy fixed his gaze on the rows of text, neat lines in orderly rows, and tried to shut out the echo of Edward's confession about Winly. Roy had spent all day trying to forget the conversation, but the more he tried, the less he succeeded. It was futile, he decided, and bent his head to study the Eastern conventions for breeding stock.

Roy set the book aside when he heard the bolt slide from its chute. The door swung open, revealing Edward, blindfolded and shackled. Franco was holding him up by the elbow, and Edward swayed. Roy came to his feet, wincing at the touch of flagstone on his bare feet. Kelly had both shackles off in the time it took Roy to move to the foot of the cot, his arms crossed as he watched. Franco pulled off the blindfold and Edward blinked, his arms lax at his sides. Franco sighed and shoved Edward, who took a step forward and fell into the room. The door slammed shut behind him. Edward flinched.

"Fullmetal?" Roy frowned, uncertain as to whether he should put out a hand to steady the young man.

"Mustang..." Edward opened his eyes, the wide eyes great pools of black with only the barest shimmer of gold at the edges. "They..." He took a step and his knees buckled.

Roy was at his side instantly, catching Edward, who flailed a little.

"They—" Edward's voice cracked, and Roy shushed him, helping him to the cot. Roy brought water, and Edward drank with a shaky hand. Roy had to guide the cup, and caught it as Edward let go, his expression stricken. "I made messages for Hogan...one of the guards—oh—" The words ended in a strangled moan, and Edward buried his face in his hands.

"Fullmetal," Roy whispered, bent down and pried Edward's hands away. "What? Talk to me—"

Edward twisted in Roy's grip, his eyes squeezed tight, and he shook his head violently. "I keep seeing— oh, god, sir, I can't—"

"Elric," Roy tried, but the name prompted no response. "Edward," Roy called. "Edward, tell me."

"One of the guards—" Edward took a great shuddering breath. "He knew the symbols—called Creighton—" He yanked his hands from Roy's grasp, and ran his fingers through his hair. His right hand caught in his braid, and he tugged viciously. His eyes were unfocused, fixed on a point somewhere around Roy's waist.

Roy sank to his knees before Edward, but Edward averted his gaze.

"They brought in Hogan's daughter," Edward gasped. His hands fell to his thighs, digging into his knees. "They—they—"

"No," Roy whispered, shock chilling him to the bone. He raised his hands, then dropped them, uncertain. "Oh, god," he said, lower.

Edward shook, his breathing coming in ragged gasps, and he hunched over. His bangs fell to mask his face, but the heaving motion of his chest left Roy in no doubt that Edward was struggling to hold back sobs. "Both the guards...she's twelve, she's twelve..." Edward keened, leaning forward, one hand moving to wrap around his stomach.

Roy had barely enough warning to get out of the way, before Edward was vomiting onto the floor between his feet. Edward's automail hand beat against his knee as his body heaved. Roy grabbed the water jug, and the bed sheet from Edward's cot. Putting one end in his mouth, he ripped violently, tearing a long strip off. Soaking it in water, he pressed the cloth against Edward's mouth.

"Suck," Roy instructed.

Edward shook his head, recoiling. "Water," he gasped.

"Damn it, you drink, you'll throw up again," Roy told him. "Just a little at a time. Come on, Edward."

"Roy," Edward moaned. "I wanted to stop it, I did, I wanted—" He sobbed, and smashed the crumpled fabric against his mouth, stifling his cries. Tears were pouring down his cheeks, and he shivered when Roy touched him on the shoulder. "But Creighton said if I even raised a hand—" He choked, coughing, and heaved again, but nothing came up.

Roy moved out of range automatically, his blood cold in his veins. His heart beat dully in his ears, a sonorous sound, and it seemed at odds with his shaking hands and dazed movements. He lifted Edward's feet, propelling Edward sideways, until his legs hung over the end of the cot. Roy stripped off Edward's boots, dropping them on the floor. Edward started to sit up, but Roy pushed him back down.

"Hogan," Edward mumbled, panicky. "She said...they'd kill her husband." His eyes opened, and he caught at Roy's hand, his eyes wild and desperate. "It's not— I can't— "

"We do what we have to do," Roy murmured, wincing when Edward's automail hand tightened on his wrist.

"But not like that," Edward protested, shaking his head. "Not—twelve, Roy—she was—she kept—" He sobbed, a dry, miserable sound, and rolled over to curl up in a ball on his side. "I couldn't do a damn thing, and they made me stand there and watch and—"

Roy reached over Edward, rubbing Edward's back. He couldn't think of what to say. He wasn't sure what to do. When Hughes had gotten word of his favorite uncle's death, they'd been seventeen. Hughes had returned to their dormitory room in tears, and without words, clutched Roy's chest and sobbed. Roy had hugged him tightly, wordlessly, but it seemed to help. Roy chewed his lower lip, remembering that moment, staring down at the automail fingers wrapped around his wrist. He sat down on the head of the cot, lifting Edward, pulling him half onto Roy's lap. When Edward's face was against Roy's bare chest, Roy wrapped his arms around Edward and held him close.

"Hogan said..." Edward's fingers curled against Roy's side, clinging. "She could heal her daughter but if I fought back, nothing would heal her husband of death — " Edward's cried trailed off into whimpers. "Twelve, twelve...only twelve..."

Yes, and at twelve, you were already a man willing to shoulder unbelievable burdens, Roy thought, staring down at the golden head buried in his arms. Edward shook with strangled sobs, his fingers pressing into the bruises on Roy's chest. Perhaps that's why you're so protective of Winly, or Hogan's daughter, Roy replied silently, tightening his grasp as Edward shuddered. They have what you feel you didn't, and you know the price of losing that. Too bad, Roy thought, tentatively raising a hand to run his fingers across Edward's head, that you've never realized that not experiencing what you did doesn't mean they're not strong enough...

Several minutes passed before Edward shoved half-heartedly at Roy's chest, mumbling something as he sat up, his back to Roy. He wiped the tears brusquely from his eyes, and didn't say anything when Roy brought him the stew and a cup of water. Edward picked at the stew, only sipping the broth, while Roy poured the rest of the water onto the shredded sheet and cleaned up by the end of the cot.

"Sorry," Edward said, staring down into the half-eaten dinner. "I—I—"

"It's okay, F...Elric," Roy said, catching himself. He wasn't sure where he stood, but using the name Elric seemed like a good compromise between the intimacy of a first name and the formality of a National Alchemists' title. "It's hard to take, the first time."

"It gets easier?" Edward raised his head, his expression inscrutable, but Roy thought he sensed a flash of anger.

"It gets worse," Roy said, turning away. He dumped the soiled sheet by the door, and figured that would have to do. Turning back to Edward, he nodded at the bed. "Get some sleep."

"Sleep," Edward said, and stared at his lap even after Roy took the soup away and set it back on the table, then came to sit on the end of the bed. Edward shifted, digging around in the back of his jeans. "I have something."

He glanced at Roy from under his eyelashes. His cheeks were stained by tear-trails, and his mischievous expression was barely in place. Roy knew it for the mask it was, but raised an eyebrow, playing along. Something white and soft hit him in the chest, and he frowned, looking down at two white gloves.

"What—" Roy picked up the gloves, turning them over in his hand. They felt scratchy, but wonderfully familiar. "They're—" He couldn't find the breath to speak, suddenly.

"I'm not really sure how you make them," Edward explained, fidgeting slightly. He looked pained, chewing on his lower lip as he watched Roy carefully pull on one glove. "I...I knew the basics, but I wasn't..."

Roy flexed his fingers, and snapped, feeling the flint strike, the heat under his fingertips a welcome sensation. He stuck his fingers in his mouth and bit down, tugging off the glove, and looked up to see Edward's golden eyes on him, wide and curious. Roy smiled, openly, and hoped that was a good enough thank-you; he wasn't sure he trusted his voice just then. Moving to sit closer to Edward, Roy laid the gloves on his knee, and stuck his hand into the space between cot and frame, bringing out the pencil. He sketched the array on the back of one glove. Pulling the glove back on, he snapped, measuring quickly, and a small flare jumped up from his fingers, dancing in the room.

Edward laughed, a hollow, tired sound, but a little pleased at the same time. Roy chuckled, knowing that the laughter—and hope—were two things Edward needed badly right then. There was silence, then, and Roy's gaze went from the gloves to Edward's lowered face. Roy frowned, not understanding, and blinked when he realized Edward was blushing.

"Ah." Edward scratched his cheek with a finger, not looking up. "Glad they work okay."

"Yes," Roy murmured. "Perfect." He sketched an array on the second glove, and tucked both into his right pocket.

Edward took the pencil from him, and stuck it back in its hiding space. "I can find my way there and back, now, I'm pretty sure," he said, sitting upright. He stretched his legs out, and didn't look at Roy when his calves ended up draped against Roy's thigh.

"Any success tracking your path from the stairs to the room where they take you?"

"I—" Edward stiffened, just enough to be noticeable, and Roy waited. Edward shook his head. "Ten steps from the bottom of the stairs, to the door on the right. But it doesn't matter..." He sighed, and turned his face away. "There's no way we can get all of them out, and I..."

"We will," Roy assured him, and blew out the lamp. "Go to sleep."

"If I sleep—" came the worried reply.

"If you do," Roy said, understanding perfectly, "I'll be here. Sleep, and I'll see you in the morning."

"Morning," Edward said, and the word was a long sigh. He was quiet for several minutes, while Roy laid down on the other cot and pulled the blanket over himself. "Mustang," Edward whispered, but didn't say more.

"Yes, Elric," Roy answered, and that was good enough.

•**  
**

* * *

• 

The night was a long one for Roy. He was woken several times by Edward thrashing under his blanket, whimpering. Roy was at the cot in a heartbeat, half-asleep but aware enough to settle on the edge and pull Edward to his chest. The first time, Edward struggled, his moans growing louder, until he slowly came awake under Roy's hand brushing up and down his back. As Edward fought his way from the nightmare, he grew still, then pushed lightly at Roy. Once released, Edward wiped his nose with the back of his hand, rolled over, and fell immediately back into sleep.

The second time, Edward didn't fight against Roy's hold, but sank into him, clinging as he surfaced from sleep. He rested his forehead against Roy's chest, breathing heavily, then shrugged off Roy's hold, and was asleep the minute he lay down.

The third time, Roy was tempted to throw his pillow at Edward, but something made him get up and stumble over. Edward, deep in the nightmare, threw his arms out and latched on before Roy even had a chance to sit down. Edward clung fiercely, shuddering, and burrowed his head into the crook of Roy's neck, his hold tight enough to leave automail imprints on Roy's skin. Edward didn't let go for long time, and Roy rocked them both, shushing Edward softly as he ran his fingers through Edward's hair.

Eventually Edward sighed, his body relaxing, and Roy realized Edward was asleep, and probably had been for several minutes. A little embarrassed, and yet also flattered, Roy gently laid Edward down, covering him with the blanket, before falling back onto his own cot. Roy grumbled as he did so, convinced he'd never get back to sleep. But he was out the instant his head hit the pillow, drifting into sleep accompanied by Edward's soft purring snore.

In the morning, Roy woke at Edward's light step near the bed, registered the proximity, knew it was no threat, and sank back into dreams. On the edge of the dream, though, there was a flash of light, and Roy buried his face in the pillow, not sure what was dream and what had to be bright sunlight from a curtain pulled back.

When he did awake, later, he was unsurprised to find both blankets were laying over him once again. A glance at the other cot revealed the morning's true surprise, and the cause of the bright flash he'd felt in the pre-dawn gray. The cot's ticking mattress was exposed, lumpy and thin, bare of everything but the pillow.

And on the pillow lay a neatly folded white shirt.

•**  
**

* * *

 

_This ends Part One of the Contraries Arc._


	11. restraint of desire: lost

   _‎ ‎ ‎Eternity is in love with the productions of time._  
    ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ — William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

**1: lost**

* * *

   

  The sky was blue.

  …_to inform you…_

  It shouldn't be, he thought.

  …_the National Alchemist…_

  Alphonse blinked, and tore his gaze away from the windows. The cup of tea in his hands had grown cool, but still he clutched the cup, blinking again. The sun's light was warm on his skin, a gentle caress.

  …_deepest regrets…_

  It was all wrong.

    Warrant Officer Fury stared down at his cup, as well, his eyes large behind the round frames of his glasses. Next to him, Second Lieutenant Farman shifted uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on Winly. She hadn't spoken since they had knocked on the door. She'd stood on the threshold, staring, her blue eyes wide as she took in their formal attire, the caps they'd removed, and the polite, sorrowful nods they gave Alphonse as he got up from the desk to join Winly.

    …_the line of duty…_

    "We're sorry if this is an intrusion," Farman finally said, his expression kind. Winly was clutching a screwdriver in one hand, a bolt in the other, perched on the edge of the chair. Farman exhaled slowly. "Formal procedures would be a telegram, but…"

    "I know," Alphonse told him. "And…I…we appreciate you coming all this way."

    "We served with both of them, for a long time," Fury replied. "A telegram wouldn't have been right."

    "It's…" Winly's stutter caught the three men off-guard. They fell silent. She was shaking, slightly, and the screwdriver rattled against the arm of the chair. "It's not," she stated, quietly but emphatically. "It's not." Winly turned large blue eyes on Alphonse. "Al…it's…"

    "I know, Winly," Alphonse said, but couldn't find any other words.

    He reached out, and Winly recoiled, shaking her head. She dropped the bolt and screwdriver, and buried her face in her hands, sobbing. Alphonse watched for a second, then got up from his chair. Kneeling down beside her, he opened his arms and she fell into them, crying. Alphonse hugged her tightly, twisting in place to look at the two men on the sofa, their eyes averted.

    "Please," he whispered, just loud enough to be heard over Winly's sobs. "We have the space. Stay here tonight and head back in the morning."

    "We wouldn't want—" Farman started to say.

    "I insist," Alphonse replied. "There's a train an hour past dawn, but you'd have to leave just before dawn to make it, walking. Stay until the noon train," he said, running a hand up and down Winly's back. She nodded her consent into his chest. "It's not an imposition."

    Fury stood. "I'll…I'll make dinner," he offered. "I feel like I should do something."

    Winly sobbed harder, suddenly, and Alphonse gave Fury a grateful smile. Farman stood as well, scratching the back of his head.

    "I'll chop some wood," Farman said, and pulled off his coat, leaving it over the arm of the sofa. With a small wave, he stepped outside, while Fury left to poke around in the kitchen.

    "Al," Winly moaned.

    "I know," Alphonse said, and wondered when it would hit him, too.

    His brother and the General were dead.

( )

* * *

( )

    Dinner was quiet, kept alive only by Farman and Fury exchanging small anecdotes. Fury spoke about his sister's wedding, and Farman managed to lighten the mood with wry observations of the assignment he'd been on for the past month. The numb feeling was momentarily replaced with soft laughter and casual conversation, masking the emptiness they all felt. The places at the ends of the table were left alone; Granny Pinako's spot, and where Edward always sat. Alphonse stared down at the fork in his hand, noting the grease under his fingernails from helping Winly, and repeated the words.

    _My brother and the General are dead._

    After dinner, all four assisted in cleaning. Alphonse wasn't surprised they'd finished the entire meal. Fury was a damn better cook than Winly or Alphonse, and anything was better than Edward's idea of cooking, which usually involved alchemy. Most of Edward's attempts had gone wrong, but to such a magnificent degree that Alphonse and Winly couldn't fault him for his enthusiasm. Alphonse frowned, drying the last plate and handing it to Winly.

    _It can't be happening._

    Alphonse helped assemble the blankets and extra pillows, opting to sleep on the sofa despite Fury's protests. His room – the room he'd always shared with Edward, when they were home together – suddenly seemed too big, too empty. Farman and Fury said their goodnights, carrying their small packs into the room, and shut the door behind them.

    "Goodnight, Al," Winly whispered, and hiccupped. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, and before Alphonse could say anything, she fled into her own bedroom.

    Alphonse trudged down to the sofa in the main room, and laid down, watching the dying embers of the fire.

    _It can't be true._

( )

* * *

( )

   Alphonse woke at dawn, cringing at the bright sunshine creeping over the window sill and battering him on the eyelids. Yawning, he sat up, remembered, and sank back down again. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

    _My brother._

    Just as quickly, he roused himself, knowing Winly needed him. He pushed back the covers, rubbing at his unruly hair and stretching as he padded up the stairs to Winly's room. Tapping softly at the door, he waited, and pushed it open.

    Winly was standing by her dresser, staring down at her wrench. She gave a guilty start when she looked up, and dropped the wrench on the dresser top. It fell with a clatter, and she jumped a little to the side.

    "Sorry," she muttered. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she sniffled. "Al…" Winly sagged, suddenly, and made a vague motion with her hands. "I didn't love him enough, did I?"

    "What?" Alphonse was floored. In five steps he was in front of Winly, wrapping her in his arms, and she clung to him almost as tightly as he did to her. It felt good to have a body sometimes, but just then Alphonse wished he were armor again. Then Winly could crawl inside him and fill up the empty space within his ribs.

    "I didn't," she repeated, her voice muffled against his shirt. "If I did, I would've gone with him, wherever he wanted, but—"

    "Your business, your life is here," Alphonse replied. "He knows…knew…that, and so do I. You can't travel around, and—"

    "—Maybe I should've," she said. Her short fingernails dug into Alphonse's chest, hard enough to leave marks. "He didn't like being here, staying still, with nothing to do or see or read…I wasn't enough. If I had been, he'd be here, and safe, and—"

    "—You couldn't keep him safe," Alphonse told her, burying his face in her hair. "I couldn't, you couldn't, no one could."

    "Even Mustang," Winly said, almost bitterly. "How could he do that! He's…" She choked back a sob. "He's…"

    "He _wouldn't_." Alphonse heard his own words, and halted, Winly's grasp forgotten as he considered it more carefully. General Mustang had, in some way or fashion, for some reason, combusted the room he was in, with the center of the fire being Edward Elric. A terrible alchemical accident, the formal words said, but…Alphonse frowned, and strove to return his attention to Winly, first. "Winly, Brother doesn't belong in one place."

    "He still never talked to me," Winly moaned. "Wouldn't tell me what he was do—"

    "—Some of his assignments, he couldn't," Alphonse reminded her. "That doesn't mean he loved us any less—"

    "—But I got so _mad_ sometimes!" Winly shook her head, rubbing her nose against Alphonse's collarbone, and it once again shocked him how much taller he'd grown in two years. Winly sighed, and carefully stepped back. "When he left, I was glad." She tensed, and when Alphonse didn't react, she relaxed slightly, fingering the hem of her shirt. "But I didn't mean I wanted him gone, forever. I just…I just wish there were some way…something I could've done, I feel like I didn't do enough…If I could just figure out what it was, go back, get him back, and undo it—"

    Winly looked up, and shrank back suddenly. Alphonse realized he must have a face like a thundercloud at her unwitting implications. He took a long breath, letting it out slowly before he spoke. She'd never entertain such notions, but it wasn't his favorite topic.

    "Let's…" Alphonse cast about for a distraction. "Let's go make breakfast for the officers, before they leave. And we…we need to find out about arrangements."

    "Arrangements," Winly echoed, uncertain.

    "Brother is…was…a National Alchemist," Alphonse explained. "They may have a space for him in—"

    "No," Winly snapped, fire lighting in her eyes. "He comes back here, to stay by your mother and Granny Pinako."

    It's just a body, Alphonse wanted to say, and glanced down at his own hands. No, it's not just a body. It may be a shell, but if it's all I have left…he nodded, and Winly grabbed the wrench off her dresser.

    "Fine, Al," she said, her chin high. "Let's make breakfast and make sure those men know what Ed's family wants."

    Alphonse sighed, looked down at his hands again, and followed her from her bedroom.

( )

* * *

( )

   The two officers came downstairs not long afterwards, and Alphonse gave them towels and showed them where everything was in the bathroom. He busied himself making breakfast, while Winly sat in the chair that faced the front door. She had her wrench in her hands, and clutched it tightly, her face drawn in tired lines. She was waiting for something, but since Farman and Fury had come downstairs, she hadn't spoken or even looked up.

    "Winly," Alphonse called, softly, not wanting to startle her. "Breakfast…"

    "I'm not hungry, Al," she answered in a listless voice.

    "You need to eat," he beseeched, coming up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. It still amazed him that he could do that, sometimes, to feel the scratchy material of her overall strap, the soft cotton, and her muscles, beneath it all. He pressed gently with his fingertips, feeling her exhaustion radiating up through her skin. "Please."

    "In a little bit," she said.

    Alphonse was quiet, hoping she'd say more, or that his presence would convince her that 'a little bit' had passed and she would be ready to eat. When she still didn't move, he sighed, and pulled away. He curled his fingers into fists, wincing as his fingernails dug half-moons into his palm. So many years of not feeling a damn thing, and now he felt like he was encased in that armor again, feelings devoid, numb, a piece of him missing despite the fact that he could look down and see himself, whole, complete.

    _I am not complete._

    He set out four plates, with forks, knives and spoons, though he wasn't sure if all the utensils would be needed. It was a ritual, and he ran a finger along one spoon, straightening it. An alchemical reaction of the most ancient kind: sitting down to eat as though filling the stomach could replace the gap in one's heart. Alphonse sighed, hearing a distant rumble. He hoped it wouldn't be thunder; storms made his loneliness ten times worse. The lightening and thunder reminded him of his brother, raging through with no regard for anything but his goal. Alphonse was the rain, following along behind, alternately furious and gentle as needed.

    I could handle the rain, Alphonse told himself, and set out a plate heaped with bacon. But I don't want to hear thunder.

    "Breakfast is ready," he called, keeping his voice pitched high, to force a natural cheer he didn't feel.

    Winly came to the table. Her hand was raised, the wrench pressed against her stomach, as though holding herself in with its iron strength. Farman and Fury joined them, dressed down in their white shirts but wearing their formal blue pants.

    Again, the meal was quiet, except for anecdotes and small talk. Farman had just begun relating who had transferred to whose command, when Winly's head lifted, and she turned to stare intently at the front windows. Catching the movement, Alphonse turned as well, wondering what she'd heard. After a second, the distant rumble shifted from the sound of thunder to the sound of a car engine. It grew louder, then came to a halt, turned over once more, and stopped.

    Alphonse frowned, almost certain Winly didn't have any patients until the afternoon. Wiping his hands on his napkin, he pushed his chair away from the table and went to answer the door.

    "Good morning, Alphonse," Captain Hawkeye said. She smiled at him, but there were lines on her face that echoed Winly's. Her hair was longer, pulled into a neater bun, but her uniform was neatly pressed, always impeccable. "I'm sorry to disturb you. I've come to retrieve Officers Furman and Fury." She glanced past Alphonse to see Fury and Farman coming to their feet by the table, and one of Hawkeye's eyebrows twitched. "I didn't realize—"

    "It's okay, ma'am, please come in." Alphonse pulled the door open wider. Warrant Officer Thompson, Hawkeye's petite assistant, was standing behind the Captain. "Warrant Officer," he said. She smiled, tightly, and gave him a small bow in return. "We were just sitting down to breakfast, and there's plenty," he told the two women. "Have you eaten? You're welcome join us."

    "We don't have a great deal of time," Hawkeye said. "I'm here—"

    "There's a noon train," Winly said, and Alphonse started, not prepared to hear her interrupt so bluntly. He flushed, glancing at Hawkeye, but the Captain merely checked the time on the wall.

    "We need to catch the morning train," she said, demurring, again with that preoccupied smile. "The matter is urgent. Gentlemen," and the greeting was a command.

    "I'll get our things," Fury said, and Farman nodded absently, his gaze fixed on Hawkeye. She nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and Farman saluted as well.

    The gesture seemed wildly inappropriate in a house's living room, Alphonse thought, so far removed from the city and the military, and yet strangely comforting for all its relative insignificance. He found himself filing that gesture away with the silverware, drawing the familiar close about him to stave off the words waiting in the pit of his stomach.

    _My brother and the General are dead._

( )

* * *

( )

   Winly began clearing the table, offering little in conversation. Alphonse was about to join Winly when Hawkeye caught his eye, and jerked her head in a subtle motion towards the backdoor. Intrigued, Alphonse nodded, joining her on the back porch.

    Hawkeye was silent for a long time, watching thunderheads roll above the green fields in the distance.

    "Twelve years," she said, and sighed. She was quiet a little longer, and turned to Alphonse with that calm yet determined look he'd grown to know so well. She had to tilt her chin to look up at him, and she flashed him a quick smile before straightening. "I'm heading to Soswell, on the premise that the General should be returned to Central with an honor guard of his staff. We will also bring Edward with us, as well. Have you and Miss Rockbell discussed—"

    "Ma'am," Alphonse said, very slowly, narrowing his eyes at Hawkeye. "Is there some reason you didn't say that you would be bringing the remains?"

    "I meant—" Hawkeye's eyes went wide, almost imperceptibly, and one corner of her mouth twitched. "No, that's not what I meant," she admitted.

    Alphonse took a deep breath, then a second, and suddenly the porch was tilting at a crazy angle. Hawkeye said something, sharp, in his ear, and he gasped again. He opened his eyes, seeing the porch railing under his hand. His other hand was locked with Hawkeye's.

    "Alive," he choked out, hopeful.

    "I don't know," she whispered, and let go of his hand. "I'm sorry, Alphonse," she muttered. "I didn't mean to get your hopes up. But it was definitely not an accident."

    He brushed himself off, and gave her a pointed look.

    Hawkeye stared out across the fields again, then lifted her hand and snapped her fingers, just once. "I have known the General - Roy - for more than half my life," she said, still not looking at Alphonse. "And in all that time I have never once known him to wear his gloves while sleeping or eating. He does not wear his gloves lightly, nor as an accessory unless he sees reason."

    The world was still tilted awkwardly, and Alphonse struggled for breath. Her implications… "You think—"

    "I know," Hawkeye said, firmly. "We have had many meetings in the officer's barracks when I accompanied him on assignments, over the years. The most relaxed one could expect from the General is for him to wear his work shirt and a pair of khakis. The very least, he'd leave his jacket in his room." She smiled, a memory or private joke lighting her features. "The General may not dress down as a matter of practice, but his natural formality does not necessarily include the array of his title."

    Alphonse blinked, trying to sort through his own memories. Most of the times he'd seen the General, the man was on duty, and the gloves were either present - or in a pocket within quick reach.

    "But Edward," Alphonse said, and just as quickly bit down on the rest of his words. Hawkeye stared at him levelly.

    "If you honestly believe the General would ever do anything to truly endanger…" She didn't finish. There was no need. She turned away, her eyes glittering in the midmorning, and walked back into the house.

    Alphonse nodded, his decision already made, and followed her in. Farman and Fury were by the front door, and Winly was wiping the kitchen table clean. She sniffled, and wiped her eyes, smiling weakly when she saw Alphonse reappear behind Hawkeye.

    "I'm coming with you," Alphonse said.

    Hawkeye stopped abruptly, her neck stiff. He could see the rise and fall of her shoulders before she slowly turned to face him.

    "I've got to get something," Winly whispered to no one in particular, and fled the room.

    Alphonse's baffled gaze followed her figure as she ran out the door, up the stairs. Then he saw Hawkeye's regretful face, and suspected it was the cause of Winly's flight. No doubt Winly's retreat was to make sure her own complaints would be aired when Alphonse's attention wasn't divided.

    Hawkeye turned measuring eyes on Alphonse, and his heart came up in his throat, plummeting the second she lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry, Alphonse," she murmured. "But this is a military assignment. You're a civilian."

    "I'm a member of the family," he replied. "If this involves my brother—"

    "We'll make sure to bring him home," Fury said, subdued.

    Alphonse frowned. That wasn't good enough. "But—"

    "No, Alphonse," Hawkeye repeated.

    It was the tone of voice she often used in the second before drawing her gun, and Alphonse wasn't surprised to see Mustang's remaining staff lean away from her nervously. There was a long silence, filled only by Fury's nervous shifting from foot to foot, at Hawkeye's side. She looked around the room, taking in the fireplace, the sofa, the bench covered with notes and appointments and orders to be filled. Hawkeye sighed, and closed her eyes, the closest to visible defeat she'd ever allow.

    "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I wish I could. But the rules are clear. Missions like these do not allow family members to accompany the assigned officers."

    "But I—"

    "I know," Hawkeye said. "Your brother is most unusual in that regard, as is…was…the General. I don't have that kind of leeway, now." She paused, and her expression softened, for just a moment, then returned to its firm, cold lines of her position. "I'm sorry. Please give my regards to Miss Rockbell."

    "Captain," Farman said, saluting. Hawkeye paused, and he gave her an abashed look. "Do we have a few minutes? I didn't have a chance to straighten the bedroom we borrowed."

    "Make it quick, Second Lieutenant," Hawkeye said.

    Alphonse remained by the kitchen table, dumbfounded, distantly registering the conversation behind the furor in his mind. If Edward had been murdered, he didn't want to be at home waiting for the news. He wanted to find the person, wrap his hands around the person's neck, and strangle them slowly and painfully. Death by fire is not my brother's rightful end, he thought, and could only stare as Hawkeye strode from the house.

    "You've grown," Thompson said, leaning back and giving him a quick smile. He towered over her, Alphonse noted, and he wasn't wearing shoes either. "I'm terribly sorry," she added. "I'll miss your brother. We all will." Then she, too, left.

    "It was an honor to work with your brother all these years," Fury said quietly. "He was a good alchemist…and a good person."

    "So was the General," Alphonse murmured.

    "Thank you again for your hospitality. And please tell Miss Rockbell I'm…we're…" Fury swallowed hard, ducking his head, and removed his glasses, wiping them with quick, jerky movements. Putting them back on, he gave Alphonse a sorrowful look, then left as well.

    Farman's light tread sounded in the doorway, and he gave a small bow and tight smile to Alphonse. "You know, National Alchemists are considered a branch of the military," the man observed. He was buttoning up his coat, but didn't seem to be a in hurry. "People underestimate the importance of having the right sponsor, however. It's a political thing, I suppose." He smiled again, that enigmatic look he seemed to have learned from working with Hughes. "Take care, Alphonse, and I'll see you soon."

    "Right," Alphonse said, the man's words slowly sinking into his numbed brain. "See you…" He started to turn it into a question, but the door was already shutting behind Farman, and Alphonse was alone in the room.

( )

* * *

( )

   It was the sound of the car engine that woke Alphonse from his stupor. He looked around the room, recalling Farman's odd words, and bolted up the stairs. He doubted there was much chance two military officers would have come down to breakfast without making up the beds. It just wasn't a likely event, and he pounded past Winly – just coming out of her own room – and threw himself around the corner into the room he shared with Edward.

    He stopped in the middle, not sure what he was looking for, or what he'd find.

    A sign, he thought, desperately. _Something._

    "Al," Winly whispered from the door, and pointed.

    There was a simple note sitting on the dresser, and Alphonse picked it up with shaking hands. Flipping it open, he scanned it.

    _Major General Cameron retires in two weeks, and has returned to Central for the duration of his duty. North Patterson, no. 17. His chess skills are rivaled only by one._

    Alphonse paused, and read it a second time. He took a deep breath, swallowing hard before looking up at Winly. "I'm going to Central," he told her, calmly. "I'm going to become a National Alchemist."

    The room was perfectly silent for nearly twenty heartbeats, and Alphonse began to relax. Winly hadn't responded, her face frozen in the moment of comprehension, her mouth just slightly open. She drew in breath, and Alphonse instinctively tensed.

    "Al!" Winly exploded into the room, grabbing the note. She read it, shook her head, and read it again. "What is this supposed to mean?"

    "I'm not sure, but I'm going to find out." He hesitated, then plunged ahead. "I think this is the guy who can help me become a National Alchemist."

    "Edward studied for _months_ for his exam," Winly said, starting to ball the letter up. Alphonse grabbed her wrist, holding her tight enough to make her squeak. "Al! No! You're not going!"

    "I am," he said.

    "Ed hated being a National Alchemist! He was a dog of the military, and he—"

    "Kept doing it once he no longer had to," Alphonse pointed out. He smoothed the letter, and tucked it into his jeans pocket. Winly gaped, scrambling for the wrench in her back pocket, but Alphonse grabbed her wrists again, easily holding her hands away from the weapon. She wriggled, spitting furiously, and Al sighed. "Please, Winly," he said.

    "But Edward would," she moaned, then shut her mouth into a hard line. She tugged on her wrists one more time.

    He let go, stepping back warily before he headed to the closet where his own suitcase waited for the day he'd join Edward again. Immediately Winly was beside him, grabbing the handle of the case and trying to jerk it away from him.

    "Al, don't," Winly begged. "This is madness. You can't just up and go become a National Alchemist."

    "Brother studied, and missed one question," Alphonse reminded her. "I had a perfect score. I can do this."

    "It's Captain Hawkeye's job, not yours," she protested.

    "It's my brother!" Alphonse threw the suitcase on his bed and flipped the top up. Going around Winly, he began pulling clothes from his dresser and throwing them on the bed. "If that doesn't make it my job, nothing does."

    "But to be a National Alchemist, Alphonse, that's—" She halted, deflating. "Alphonse…please." Her voice dropped to a tiny sound, hesitant and scared. "Don't leave me again."

    He sighed heavily, and pulled out a second pair of jeans, tossing them onto the bed. Catching Winly from behind, he wrapped his arms around her neck, and she put her hands on his forearms, holding him there. "I'm sorry, Winly. But I have to go. I think Hawkeye thinks they might be alive, and if not, they were murdered. Either way, it wasn't an accident. And I'm almost positive she's taking the staff not as honor guard, but as investigation."

    "Alive? Or murdered…" Winly twisted in Alphonse's arms. "But that's—how—not—"

    "I don't know," Alphonse admitted. "But I can't go if I'm not military, and if I go by myself as civilian, they won't be allowed to tell me anything. And I refuse to be out of the loop, if it means I'm missing information that would help me find out the truth."

    She tried one last time. "Still, if they're going, I know they'll—"

    "Not good enough," Alphonse said, and kissed her on the forehead. "I love you, Winly. You're my only family left. I would stay if I could…but this is my brother." He pulled away, and began rummaging through his desk, pulling out the alchemical notes from years ago. He hadn't saved all of them, but he figured a refresher on the train might be a good thing.

    "I know," Winly whispered, then laughed, hollowly. "Neither of you will ever really stay in one place, will you."

    "We will," Alphonse said, but part of his mind was already running through the things he needed to take, while pushing away the practical part that said he was jumping to conclusions with little basis in fact. "And besides," he added, stuffing the books on top of the clothes and shutting the suitcase with a bang. "We always come home again."

    "Yes," she said, waiting until he'd turned to face her. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "Go on, then," she whispered in his ear. "You're right…I don't mean to be selfish, but I don't…I don't…" Winly pressed her face against his neck, and clung fiercely for several heartbeats, until he wrapped his arms around her, bending over to bury his face in her shoulder. "Go find our brother, and bring him back safely."

    "Winly," he warned, not wanting to mislead her with false hopes. Hawkeye's second guess, of murder, was the more likely event. "There's the chance—"

    "You're the Elric brothers, world-famous alchemists for the people," she said, slowly disengaging. She sniffled, and blinked furiously a few times, then lifted her chin. "The two of you always do the impossible. I'm not going to hope, though," she confessed, her voice softening. "I'm going to…I'm going to…just…surprise me, okay?"

    "I'll do my best," he promised, and kissed her on the cheek. "I…walk me to the station?"

    "No, Al," Winly murmured, ducking her head. "Just go, before I come to my senses and tie you down and beat you into a pulp for even considering this crazy idea."

    Not sure what to say, Alphonse grabbed his cloak and picked up his suitcase. Winly kept her head down, and he paused in the doorway, memorizing the room, the morning light in her hair, the indentation on the blanket where his suitcase had lain. Then he turned and left, and Winly's quiet sobs followed him all the way to the door.

( )

* * *

( )

   He kept busy waiting for the noon train by rereading their notes from years before, amused at how quickly it all came back. Alphonse dragged a fingertip across his brother's childish scrawl. He tried to focus on the words, and not the memory of his brother's glare at the textbooks, puzzling out the harder concepts at the heart of alchemy.

    The train could not come fast enough, and having arrived, could not depart fast enough. Minutes and miles, stretching out…Alphonse was startled at the hard seat, the swaying motion he'd never felt in six years of accompanying Edward back and forth across the country.

    The rumbling of the tracks under his feet reminding him of thunder. He was tempted to count the distance between the rails, as though it would tell him how far he had to go to reach the center of the lightening strike.

( )

* * *

( )

   Alphonse stared up at the brownstone, and straightened his cloak. He ran a hand through his hair, certain it was sticking up again as it always did. He'd once teased Edward that perhaps if he grew his hair long, too, he wouldn't have to deal with the cowlick. Edward had come after him with a pair of scissors, and the two had tussled, laughing, until Winly had broken it up with the ever-handy wrench. Alphonse sighed, giving up on his appearance after a four-hour train ride, and made his way up the steps to knock on the door.

    It was opened by an older woman, perhaps a few years younger than Granny Pinako had been when she'd died. The woman gave Alphonse a puzzled but pleasant smile, waiting to hear what he had to say. He said the first words that came to his mind.

    "I'd like to play chess with the General, ma'am."

    Her face dissolved into a wreath of wrinkles as she smiled, and she pulled the door open wider. "Come in, young man. The General is in the parlor. He's been expecting you. You can leave your suitcase here, and would you like me to take your coat?"

    "Thank you," Alphonse said, divesting the cloak into her hands and straightening his gray shirt before stepping into the house's front room. "Sir?"

    "Alphonse Elric," a kind voice said, gravelly with age. The man sitting by the fire looked to be in his nineties, but his eyes were sharp. There was a chessboard on the table beside him, with several moves already made. "I understand you have need of a rapid movement from pawn…" He smiled, and picked up one of the pieces off the board, twirling it in gnarled but deft fingers. "…to knight."


End file.
